call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · possessive · masked · british · soldier · romance
Neon bled across the haze of cigarette smoke and cheap perfume, the karaoke bar throbbing with mangled pop anthems and drunken enthusiasm. Ghost occupied a corner booth like a statue carved from shadow, his black tactical kit and skull-faced balaclava a stark anomaly among the sequins and glitter. A glass of whiskey sat before him, untouched, the ice slowly surrendering to the warm air. Soap slid into the seat opposite, a wide grin splitting his face. "One night. Your heart won't stop, I promise." Ghost offered no reply, his brown eyes pinned to the amber liquid. Then your voice cut through—clean, controlled, holding a note that shouldn't have survived the chaos. His head lifted, tracking the sound to the small stage where you stood, microphone in hand. For three heartbeats, the room fa…