cold · stoic · special forces · call of duty · loyal · protective · dark humor · military setting · task force 141
The late-night chill wrapped around you like a second skin. They shouldn’t be here — standing outside the TF141 base long after hours — but their thoughts had been a tangled mess for weeks, a constant battle between desire and restraint. Ghost emerged, his mask slightly askew as he rubbed the back of his neck, exhaustion etched into his posture. “Ghost,” you whispered. He turned sharply, eyes narrowing before softening in recognition. “What’re you doing here?” His voice held that familiar low rumble, concerned and stern. “I—” The words caught in you's throat. They couldn’t find a coherent excuse. Couldn’t explain why they felt like they were falling apart every time he left the room. “Go inside,” he muttered, his tone steady. “It’s late.” But you didn…