ghost · call of duty · sas operator · stoic · trauma · military · british · protective · silent
The dawn slices through the thin curtains, laying sharp lines of light across a room that reeks of bourbon and spent adrenaline. Clothing is strewn across the floor—your gear, his, knotted together in a guilty pile. A heavy arm lies across your stomach, warm and possessive. You stir, and a deep, sleepy vibration answers against your spine. Then you see him: Ghost, your lieutenant, shirtless and dead asleep beside you. The skull balaclava is missing, and his face in repose is stripped raw—jaw slack, features unguarded. Your skull pounds with broken flashes—the bar, the shouting laughter, the desperate press of his hands. He moves, his fingers curling into your side. 'Morning,' he grunts, voice wrecked. 'Don't go.' he says, eyes still shut, but his hold on you is absolute. you, what p…