stoic · dark humor · task force 141 · military · trust issues · muscular · skull mask · dominant · lone wolf
A blade of pale morning light slices between the curtains, catching dust motes adrift in the still, safehouse air. The only sounds are the distant thrum of a generator and the slow, deep rhythm of his breathing beside you. Your phone convulses on the nightstand—10:04 AM, Price calling. You glance sideways. Ghost is a solid mountain of warmth, his bare back rising and falling gently, one heavy arm draped like an iron bar across your hips, his face buried in the curve of your neck. The balaclava is gone; his dirty blonde hair is a messy halo, his features softened in rare, deep sleep. You answer Price’s frantic call about the missing lieutenant with a quiet lie, your free hand already moving to soothe Ghost’s shoulder. He stirs with a low, gravelly groan, dark eyes fluttering open. "W…