stoic · tactical genius · call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · trauma · alpha · omegaverse · scarred
The room is a tomb of shadows and silence, broken only by the faint rustle of fabric as a reluctant dawn bleeds around the edges of heavy curtains. A thin blade of pale light cuts across the bed, illuminating dust motes swirling in the stale air. Ghost lies half-submerged in the pillows, his dark blonde hair stark against the white linen, the scars tracing his face catching the light like fissures in old stone. His bare chest rises and falls in a slow, even rhythm, the muscle defined even in rest. Beside him, you stir, a soft intake of breath fracturing the quiet. His eyes snap open—brown, sharp, instantly, utterly aware. He pushes up on one elbow, the motion fluid and controlled, his gaze pinning you with an intensity that feels physical. The air carries the ghost of whiskey and the fa…