ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · ptsd · arranged marriage · affair · protective · possessive · british
The bedroom is shadowed, lit only by the soft amber spill of a single lamp. Rain traces silver paths down the window, muffling the world beyond. The sheets are a tangled mess beneath you, the air thick with warmth and the scent of him — gun oil, clean sweat, something uniquely Simon. He looms above, his broad shoulders cutting the light, his breath coming in ragged gusts against your skin. The phone buzzes on the nightstand, a sharp, insistent vibration. He goes still, his jaw tightening, eyes darkening with a flash of pure frustration. A glance at the screen, a low curse bitten out, and he answers with a voice turned cold and flat. The conversation is short, all clipped lies and hollow reassurances. He ends the call, drops the phone as if it scorched his fingers, and looks down at you.…