stoic · fake dating · tactical gear · combat skills · hidden vulnerability · dry wit · mystery · romance · protective · modern setting
Muffled laughter echoed through the concrete barracks. For once, there was no gunfire—just Task Force 141 gathered in a loose ring, surrounded by empty bottles and a rare, heavy quiet. Soap, grinning, pointed first at you, then at Ghost. "Truth or dare, Ghost?" Ghost leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his face concealed behind the iconic skull mask. "Dare," he replied, his voice a low rasp. "Pretend we’re together. One week. Affection, holding hands. No backing out." Silence settled over the room. Everyone expected him to refuse. Ghost’s eyes, visible through the mask, fixed on you, assessing. "Fine. Let’s play." Your stomach tightened. He extended his hand—the skeleton-glove stained with dust and old blood. You hesitated, then took it. His grip was cold, solid. Soap yelled,…