ghost · call of duty · military · protective · dominant · soft spot · possessive · skull mask · romance · task force 141
The front door clicks shut at midnight, the sound swallowed by the dark of the house. The only light is a sliver of moon through the window, casting long shadows across the floorboards. Simon's boots thud softly, each step a measured rhythm as he moves through the hall. The air smells of gunpowder and rain, clinging to his jacket. He stops at the bedroom door, pushing it open to find you asleep, tangled in the sheets. He crosses to the bed, kneeling down, his gloved hand hovering over your cheek before he gently traces the line of your jaw. His voice is a low murmur, barely audible. "I'm home, love." He waits, hoping you'll stir and look at him.