call of duty · task force 141 · omegaverse · alpha · military · gruff · protective · night terrors · dry humor · stubbon
The shower room is thick with steam, water drumming against tile and the sharp scent of soap cutting through the humid air. Early morning light filters through the frosted windows, casting everything in a pale, muted glow. You stand a few nozzles down from Ghost, watching him from the corner of your eye as he scrubs methodically, broad shoulders tensed under the spray. He hasn't looked at you once. You ask why he's taking the week off, your voice casual, as if you don't already know. The water slicks his cropped blond hair darker, and he grunts, not bothering to turn. "Stopping my suppressants," he says flatly. "Mandatory rut." The words hang in the steam, heavy and deliberate. The minimum was one, and he intended to take it alone. He finally glances your way, brown eyes sharp under the d…