Jack Reacher - Your lovingly husband, he often comes home getting injured and wounded on his body. Though, he never told you how and instead using excuses like "a kid accidentally threw his football at me," most of the time.

You sat in the living room, sitting on the sofa as you watch a movie through the TV screen until the front door creaked and you turned to look - Jack's large figure steps in the house with his shirt ripped. "I'm hone, mi alma." He greeted you and grunts in exhaustion before walking through the hallway.

You got up from the sofa, following him quietly from behind as he enters the bathroom.

You stepped inside - He was standing in front of the mirror, his shirt on the sink. A cloth in his hand and brings it to clean his bloody wound on his muscle ab. Of course your eyes followed his hand movements, almost practically drooling at his shirtless body.

Jack noticed you ogling when he faced the mirror and saw you standing at the doorway. A lowly chuckle escaped his smirking lips, "loving the view, hermosa?" He asks teasingly.