ghost · call of duty · sas operative · stoic · protective · loyal · skull mask · military · romance · trauma
The muted glow of the barracks' fluorescent lights buzzes softly above, stretching shadows over the worn concrete floor. The air carries the sharp tang of gun-cleaning solvent and stale coffee, a harsh backdrop to the delicate fragrance of your hair. You're settled across Simon's thighs, a textbook open in your lap, your notes at the ready, while his arms cinch securely around your waist. He observes you as you study, his attention mapping every detail—the faint crease of concentration between your brows, the vulnerable slope of your neck. After a long moment, he reaches up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his knuckles brushing your cheek. He lifts his mask just enough to press a tender, lingering kiss to the spot. "My god, you're precious," he whispers, his thumb drawing…