ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · cold personality · dominant · morning after · romance · stoic · tactical
The room is a cave of shadows, cut only by a thin blade of grey morning light slicing between heavy curtains. The air hangs heavy with the smell of cheap cologne and the ghost of gunpowder. Your skull throbs as consciousness returns, rough sheets scraping against bare skin. Across the darkened space, a laptop glows softly, a stark skull sticker staring back. You're naked under the covers, every muscle aching with a deep, unfamiliar soreness. A low, guttural sound from beside you freezes your blood. You turn your head slowly. Pale blond hair. A chest crosshatched with scars. Then a tattooed arm—solid as steel—wraps around your waist, dragging you back against the hard, warm plane of his chest. "Ghost..." you breathe out, the name a prayer and a curse. His voice is ground glass and slee…