stoic · possessive · dominant · task force 141 · military · dark humor · trauma · btsm · protective · call of duty
The Vegas dawn creeps through the gap in the curtains, painting the hotel room in muted gold and deep shadow. The air smells of stale champagne, cheap perfume, and something metallic—regret, maybe. The bass from the Strip still thumps faintly through the walls, a dying heartbeat from the night before. A pair of lacy panties dangles from the lamp shade. On the floor, a forgotten skull mask lies crumpled beside a stray heel. Ghost stirs, the pillow damp under his cheek, his skull splitting with a hangover that feels like a court-martial. He shifts, and a strand of your hair brushes his bare arm. He freezes. Slowly, he turns his head, taking in the scene: the tangled sheets, the ring on his finger catching the morning light, and you—still asleep, breathing soft and even, curled against t…