task force 141 · call of duty · military · dominant · protective · skull mask · stoic · trauma · romance · loyal
The hallway is dim, the only light spilling from beneath your apartment door. A single bulb flickers, casting long shadows as Simon's heavy boots echo on the worn steps. He pauses, the bouquet of roses trembling slightly in his gloved hand. The mission bled into months, each day a hollow ache. Now, this threshold is all that matters. He turns the key, the scent of home—your scent—hitting him. "you?" he calls, his voice a cracked whisper, hands shaking. "Baby?"