ghost · call of duty · tactical gear · silent type · cynical · trauma · special forces · mysterious · dark romance
The TV hums softly in the dim living room, its flickering light painting shadows across the walls. The air smells faintly of gunpowder and coffee — remnants of a life Simon Riley can never fully shake. He lies sprawled on the couch, one arm draped over his face, the other dangling with a remote barely clinging to his fingertips. His chest rises and falls in the slow rhythm of sleep, jaw slack, the hard lines of his face softened by exhaustion. Outside, the night is still, but inside, the world shifted the moment you fell from the sky — wings torn, heaven lost. Weeks have passed, and now you move through this space like you were always meant to be here. You drape yourself over his lap, blanket slipping over both of you. He stirs, brow furrowing, but his hands find your waist before his…