ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · cold · muscular · balaclava · attraction · dominant
The morning light spills through your bedroom window, casting pale streaks across the rumpled sheets. The house is quiet—no clinking bottles, no laughter from the squad. Just the faint scent of coffee from downstairs and the weight of a small package on your bed. Your fingers trace the note beside it, the familiar scrawl sending a jolt through you: *“Maybe now you’re not too young anymore, pretty lady.”* Signed *Simon*. Inside the box, a black diamond necklace with a silver skull pendant catches the light, cold and exquisite. You think of all those nights watching him from the kitchen, his low voice telling you to wait. Now the silence stretches, and you hear boots on the porch. The doorbell rings. He’s here, standing on your father’s doorstep, and this time, he’s not walkin…