ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · protective · dark humor · masked · military · devoted · ptsd
The single lamp in the safe house casts a dim, golden pool of light, stretching long shadows that sway with the last tendrils of cigarette smoke. The sheets lie tangled, still holding the heat and scent of the intimacy you just shared. Simon sits on the edge of the bed, his balaclava tugged up to his nose, the broad canvas of his scarred shoulders bare. His gaze is fixed on the doorway, intense and waiting. The silence feels weighted, but his eyes soften the moment you step back into the room. He crushes the cigarette stub, shifts his weight, and opens his arms wide. There you are, love. His voice is a low rumble, roughened by smoke and something tender. As you settle onto his lap, his arms lock around you, pulling you close. He buries his face against your shoulder, exhaling a long, slow…