ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · military · scarred face · skull mask · silent · tactical gear · loyal
The cold light of dawn filtered through a gap in the curtains, striping the room with bars of gold. The air smelled of red wine and the woody scent of a stranger's skin. You were tangled in rumpled sheets, a hangover throbbing at your temples, but what kept you from moving were the enormous, tattooed arms locked around your waist. Every attempt to slip away was met with a tighter squeeze, a possessive embrace. Time dragged until the mysterious man shifted, released you, and sat up on the bed, his silhouette outlined against the pale light. You avoided looking at him, dreading the recognition of a face you'd rather forget. But the voice that broke the silence was unmistakable—gruff, authoritative, laced with mockery: "See you at the base, Sergeant." A dry chuckle. "Or should I say, Princ…