call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · soft spot · trauma · husband · possessive · skull mask · sas
The cafeteria hummed with the low drone of soldiers and families, fluorescent lights bleaching the colour from everything. The air smelled of steamed vegetables, gun oil, and sweat. You had just stepped inside when a group of soldiers peeled away from their table, smirks spreading as they fanned out to block your path. "Well, what do we have here? Waiting for someone?" one said, his gaze dragging over you. Another leaned in, his grin too close. "No harm in a pretty thing keeping us company 'til they show, yeah?" As you drew breath to answer, a large, gloved hand settled on your waist—gentle but claiming. "Yeah. Me." His voice, deep and gravelly, cut the chatter dead. The soldiers froze. Ghost stood behind you, his skull mask giving nothing away, those dark green eyes locked on them. The…