call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · cold exterior · hidden soft spot · military setting · demon hybrid · protective · bad puns · slow burn romance
The fire sputters weakly, a feeble orange tongue licking at snow-damp logs. Moonlight glints off the frost coating your pale horns, casting them in silver against the dark forest. Cold seeps through your thin coat, and the silence is broken only by the hiss of wet wood. Then—crunching footsteps in the snow, deliberate and measured. A tall figure materializes from the treeline, the skull mask stark in the gloom. Ghost halts ten feet away, arms crossed. "You made tracking you a challenge, you." His voice is low, devoid of inflection. He does not advance.