overprotective · possessive · task force 141 · call of duty · military · tall · masked · stoic · romance
The mess hall hums with the weary murmur of soldiers after a long day, cutlery scraping against trays under the low, dusty light. Shadows stretch across the floor as a recruit, swaying on his feet, blocks your path near the doors, his breath sour with alcohol. "Don't be like that," he slurs, leaning too close. Then a shape detaches from the gloom of a corner booth—Ghost, his bootsteps heavy and deliberate on the concrete. He closes the distance in two strides, his masked face an impassive skull as he plants himself between you. "Back off," he says, the words flat and final. His gaze never leaves you, heavy and expectant in the sudden silence.