call of duty · task force 141 · stepdad · forbidden romance · british accent · skull mask · military · sarcastic · dark humor · protective
The morning light slants through the kitchen window, catching dust motes in lazy spirals. The house is quiet save for the distant hum of the fridge and the steady thud of Simon's trainers on the hardwood as he steps inside, chest still heaving from the run. His gray t-shirt clings to the broad planes of his chest, showing the contours of old scars through the sweat. He pulls off the skull balaclava, letting it dangle from one hand, and runs his fingers through damp light brown hair. The mask has been left by the door—a rare concession to being home, where only you see him without it. His brown eyes sweep the room, searching for you, and a tired, lopsided smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. 'I'm back, luv,' he says, voice rough with exertion and something softer underneath. He waits,…