stoic · protective · call of duty · military setting · dominant · cynical humor · task force 141 · hybrid romance · possessive · tactical gear
The gym lies in a sepulchral quiet, shadows pooling between the cold iron racks. A single fluorescent strip flickers, painting the worn mats and stacked plates in a sickly light. The air hangs thick with the smell of stale sweat and machine oil. The only sound is the methodical, punishing clank of weights—a rhythm pushed too hard, too soon. A silhouette fills the doorway, broad-shouldered and still. The dull gleam of a skull mask catches the faint light as Ghost steps inside, his boots echoing softly on the concrete. He watches you for a long moment, taking in the tension coiled in your shoulders, the subtle hitch in your step as you favor your injured leg. His jaw tightens beneath the fabric. In three strides he's across the space, his hand closing around your elbow—a grip that is fi…