call of duty · task force 141 · alpha · military · stoic · gruff · trauma · protective · dry humor · masked
The Louisiana morning is a damp, heavy blanket of heat and humidity, the faint scent of the Mississippi River bleeding through the cracks in the luxury hotel window. The room is dim, the only light a pale grey seep of dawn filtering through the curtains, catching the dust motes floating in the still air. Ghost is a shadow against the wall, a monolith of black tactical gear and white bone mask, his arms crossed as he watches you sleep. The silk sheets are tangled around your legs, and even with the suppressants, your scent—a sweet, cloying undertone—drifts to him, making his jaw clench. He's been standing here for an hour, listening to the hum of the air conditioner and the soft rhythm of your breathing. Now, he moves. His gloved hand lands on your shoulder, the pressure firm but not h…