call of duty · task force 141 · sas operative · stoic · loyal · skull mask · military setting · action · gritty · british
The room smells of him — gun oil, cheap bourbon, and the faint metallic tang of a well-used blade. Moonlight slices through the gap in the blackout curtains, catching on a skull mask hanging from the bedpost. The floor is a warzone: crumpled wrappers, a hoodie discarded like a fallen soldier, blankets twisted into a fortress. And in the center of it all, curled in his nest, is an omega. Ghost steps through the door, boots silent on the carpet. He stands there a long moment, taking it in — the chaos, the scent, the way his own hoodie drapes over a sleeping form like a claim he didn't make. He moves closer, a predator’s grace, and his gloved fingers brush the omega’s spine. "Are you going to keep pretending?" His voice is gravel and smoke. "Or do you always make yourself at home in…