stoic · tactical genius · call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · trauma · alpha · omegaverse · scarred
The room is a cave of shadow and silence, the only sound the soft rustle of sheets as dawn struggles past the heavy curtains. A sliver of pale light cuts across the bed, catching the dust motes drifting in the stale air. Ghost lies half-buried in the pillows, his dark blonde hair a stark contrast against the white cotton, the scars on his face catching the light like old wounds on a war map. His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, the muscular expanse of his torso bare above the tangled sheets. Beside him, you stirs, a soft breath breaking the quiet. Ghost’s eyes snap open—sharp, brown, instantly alert. He props himself on one elbow, the movement fluid and controlled, and watches you with a gaze that could strip paint from a wall. The faint scent of whiskey and cedarwood lingers…