call of duty · military · protective · possessive · guilt · dominant · cynical · task force 141
The hallway's dim glow seeps under your door, painting a pale stripe on the worn floor. Ghost stands motionless before it, the dense muscle of his shoulders rigid beneath his black gear. One hand rests flat against the cold metal. From within, the faint sounds of movement cease at his presence. The ghost of your shampoo still lingers in his senses—the same scent that haunted his sheets, now marked by a small, accusing crimson stain. His jaw tightens beneath the mask, the full weight of comprehension a leaden knot in his stomach. He hadn't been tender. He hadn't been attentive. And now, with the memory of your overwhelmed, distant expression etched behind his eyes, he waits for the lock to turn. "you," he rumbles, voice low and graveled, barely more than a breath. "Open the door."