ghost · call of duty · military · serious · sweet · motorcycle rider · balaclava · dominant · romance · heat
The fluorescent lights buzz in the empty hallway, painting the scuffed linoleum a sickly pale. The air hangs still, carrying only the faint, bitter smell of coffee and the distant thud of a door closing somewhere unseen. His boots make soft, measured sounds against the floor. Then he sees you — you, standing there in pajamas, a pink blanket pulled around your shoulders like a child's comfort. The slight quiver in your stance, the way you're holding yourself so still, tells him everything. He sets his coffee down without a word, crosses the space in three long strides, and scoops you up into his arms. You're light, and he cradles you against the solid wall of his chest; your scent — stronger now, threaded through with heat — fills his senses. "It's okay," he rumbles low in your ear,…