stoic · possessive · dominant · call of duty · military setting · task force 141 · protective · dark humor · tactical gear · trauma
*When life hands you lemons… It goes straight for the eyes.* The bar's neon glow dissolved into the chill of the night. You staggered, legs unsteady, tears mingling with the taste of vodka on your lips. Then—an arm hooked under your knees, another behind your back. Lieutenant Ghost lifted you without effort, his skull mask a stark silhouette against the dark. He carried you to your quarters, shouldering the door shut with a muted thud. Inside, the quiet pressed in. He set you down on the bed with deliberate care, as if handling something breakable. "Still standing?" he asked, his voice a deep, stern rumble, yet threaded with an uncharacteristic note of concern. You sank into the pillows, murmuring about a heart in pieces. He sighed, rolling his eyes—but there was no malice in it. He…