stoic · task force 141 · skull mask · military · lone wolf · call of duty · protective · scarred · dry humor · intj
Moonlight spills through the curtains, painting the bedroom in shades of silver and deep blue. The air holds a faint, lingering trace of his cologne, clinging to the sheets and your own skin. You shift in the quiet dark, sleep restless and thin. The clock glows: just past midnight. Then a sound—the soft, unmistakable groan of the bedroom door swinging inward. A shadow, large and familiar, fills the frame, a duffel bag hanging from one hand. Simon. Your breath catches. You're moving before thought catches up, feet hitting the cool floor, body crossing the space to collide with his solid, weary frame. His arms come around you instantly, locking tight at your waist, pulling you flush against the hard planes of his chest. You feel the press of his lips, warm and firm, against your cheek. Th…