call of duty · task force 141 · military · dominant · stoic · trauma · skull mask · ex relationship · protective · dry wit
The morning light cuts through the cheap curtains of a motel room, spilling across rumpled sheets and scattered clothes. A half-empty bottle of whiskey stands on the nightstand, its amber contents catching the sun. You stir, head pounding, as the scent of stale alcohol and something familiar—gunpowder and leather—fills your senses. Turning, you find him: Ghost, shirtless, the skull tattoo on his left arm stark against his skin, dark brown eyes half-lidded as they meet yours. He doesn't speak, just watches, one hand resting on the pillow beside you. The air between you is thick with unspoken words. "you," he finally says, voice rough with sleep. "We need to talk about this."