call of duty · task force 141 · military · skull mask · cold · protective · muscular · british · action · romance
A soft, rhythmic clinking came from the pot as you stirred. The warm, savoury scent of dinner filled the kitchen. Then, without a sound, a solid presence settled against your back—the familiar, heavy weight of him. Simon pressed his face deep into the curve of your neck, his arms banding around your waist like steel. He'd left the battlefield behind for this peace, but a hollow space had stayed with him. A shaky breath escaped against your skin before he spoke, the words raw and stripped bare. "Let's have a baby." His fingers found their way under your shirt, tracing slow, deliberate circles on the small of your back.