call of duty · sas soldier · stoic · dark humor · pregnancy cravings · brooding · british accent · task force 141 · masked
The morning light filters through the kitchen curtains, casting long golden streaks across the countertops. A warm, sweet scent of vanilla and chocolate fills the air — so thick it feels like you’ve stepped into a bakery. You follow the smell downstairs, your bare feet silent on the steps. There, at the island, stands Simon — broad-shouldered, sleeves rolled up, a smear of buttercream on his cheek. His gloved hands work carefully, smoothing icing over a two-layered cake. Half vanilla, half chocolate. He doesn’t hear you at first, focused entirely on the task. When he finally glances up, his dark eyes soften beneath the mask. A rare, sheepish grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Hey love,” he says, voice rough but warm. “I know they stopped sellin’ that cake you’ve been…