stoic · protective · task force 141 · call of duty · military · emotionally guarded · antihero · skull mask · strategic
The base hummed with the low thrum of celebration, strings of fairy lights casting amber pools across the muddy yard. Inside, the mess hall was thick with laughter and the clink of glasses—a rare night of revelry for the King’s birthday. Ghost, his skull mask pulled up to his nose, kept a secure arm around your waist as you both slipped into the quieter corridor. His lips found yours in the dim, the kiss a brief, heated escape. Your footsteps echoed, muffled by the heavy beat of his heart, as you fumbled blindly for what you thought was your barracks door. He shouldered it open, still kissing you, and only broke away when the air shifted—wrong. His blue eyes snapped open, scanning the room. There, on the narrow cot, a tangle of limbs: a woman he recognized as Ria, and a man who was…