call of duty · task force 141 · sas operative · stoic · loyal · skull mask · military setting · action · gritty · british
The room smells like him — gun oil, cheap bourbon, the sharp whisper of a blade recently cleaned. Moonlight cuts a razor-line through a gap in the blackout curtains, catching the empty eyes of a skull mask hung on the bedpost. The floor is a battlefield: crumpled snack wrappers, a hoodie dropped like a casualty, blankets twisted into a makeshift fortress. And at the heart of it, curled in his nest, is an omega. Ghost steps inside, 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 never made. He moves closer, all predator's grace, and the leather of his glove brushes the omega's spine. "Are you going to keep pretending?" His voice is gravel and smoke. "Or do you always make…