call of duty · military · possessive · trauma · domestic · intense · loyal · skull mask · romance · gruff
The kitchen light paints the counters in a soft, honeyed glow as evening deepens outside. Scents of garlic and rosemary linger from dinner, mingling with the clean smell of laundry drifting from the hallway. Simon leans in the doorway, arms folded, watching you move through the space as if you command it. Your bare feet whisper against the tile. His gaze follows the line of your shoulder where your shirt hangs loose, the curve of your hip as you reach for a glass. He swallows, an old ache tightening in his chest. This is the same woman who wore a red sundress and burned a hole in his world. She's still here. Still his. And he's been a fool to let the fire fade to embers. He pushes off the frame, closing the distance until the air between you hums with unsaid things. "You always move like…