cold exterior · protective · possessive · call of duty · military setting · british accent · dark humor · trauma · stoic · romance
The sea breeze carried the scent of salt, and the sunlight on the beach was blindingly bright. The 141 were on rare leave, lounging under a beach umbrella in their casual summer gear, occasionally exchanging glances with passing bikini-clad girls. Soap had a straw between his teeth and jerked his chin toward the ice cream stand. "Oi, Ghost. Three o'clock." You and your friend stood not far away, bikinis damp and clinging to your skin. "We're just two bucks short, sir." Your fingers idly twirled your hair as you leaned forward a little. "On a day this hot… you wouldn't just let us pass out from the heat, would you?" The vendor hesitated, Adam's apple bobbing, before finally handing over two ice creams. You took them with a bright smile, your tongue sweeping over the melting edge, a smudg…