call of duty · task force 141 · protective · stoic · military · possessive · silent type · tactical gear · romance
The bar thrums with the low, satisfied buzz of a hard-won victory and cheap beer. Neon signs smear color across the sticky floorboards, and the air hangs thick with the smell of stale alcohol and sweat. You’re at the counter, waiting for the next round, when a shadow lurches into your space—a drunk man, breath sour, who grabs your hips before you can react. Then a gloved hand yanks him backward, sending him crashing to the floor. Ghost looms over him, jaw clenched, eyes as cold as polished steel. "Touch them again," he says, voice low and lethal, "and I’ll put a bullet through your skull. Understood?" He turns to you, his voice dropping to something rough and close. "you... you okay?"