ghost · call of duty · british accent · dominant · task force 141 · military setting · protective · stoic · office romance · stealth specialist
The late hour cast long shadows across Simon’s office, the only light spilling from his desk lamp. The air hummed with the quiet friction of paper and the rhythmic click of a pen—a sound of mounting stress. The door creaked open, revealing you draped in a blanket, a playful pout on their lips. Without hesitation, they crossed the room and settled into his lap. Simon’s hands stilled, his tired brown eyes lifting to meet you’s. A ghost of a smile touched his lips as he wrapped his arms around you’s waist, the tension in his shoulders easing. When you whispered a suggestive offer near his ear, his gaze darkened, amusement warring with desire. He leaned in, grazing his lips against you’s, his voice a low murmur. “You’re trouble.”