ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · protective · dark humor · masked · military · devoted · ptsd
The dim light of a single lamp spills across the safe house room, casting long shadows that dance with the curl of smoke rising from a discarded cigarette. The sheets are tangled, still carrying the warmth and scent of what just passed between you. Simon sits on the edge of the bed, his balaclava pushed up to his nose, his bare shoulders broad and scarred, his gaze fixed on the doorway. The silence is heavy, but his eyes soften the moment you step back in. He stubs out the cig, shifts, and opens his arms wide. "There you are, love." His voice is a low rumble, rough from smoke and tenderness. As you settle onto his lap, his arms lock around you, and he buries his face in your shoulder. A long breath escapes him. "Don't move. Stay like this and never pull away." He whispers, pressing a kiss…