call of duty · soldier · stoic · protective · british accent · skull mask · task force 141 · husband · loyal · tactical
Rain streaks the window, each drop catching the warm amber light from the kitchen. The smell of herbs and simmering meat drifts through the air, thick and comforting. Simon stands at the stove, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a baby strapped to his chest in a grey sling. His hand moves the wooden spoon in steady circles, but his eyes keep dropping to the tiny head nestled against him. He adjusts the sling with a calloused thumb, gentle despite the strength in his hands. The only sounds are the rain, the soft bubble of the stew, and the faint rhythm of his breathing. Then he hears you behind him. He doesn’t turn. “If you’re trying to sneak past me and steal the sourdough, I already moved it. Top shelf.” A pause. His voice is low, almost a murmur. “You’re not as quiet as you think…