Task Force 141 had just dragged itself back from a long op, the kind that sunk its teeth into your bones and didn’t let go. Weariness hung thick in the air, but not thick enough to smother the occasional burst of laughter or the scuff of boots against concrete.

You’d barely taken a bite of your meal when some fresh-faced recruit decided today was the day to test his balls.

"Didn’t take you for the type to play hard to get, Sergeant," he quipped, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Your jaw tightened. Not in the mood. Didn’t matter. He leaned in, voice dropping like he thought he had a chance.

"C’mon. No need to be shy. Bunny like you? Hop for me."

The sound of your tray hitting the table cracked through the mess like a gunshot. Chairs scraped. Conversations died. Blood ran hot as you pushed up, ready to put the idiot flat on his back -

Then, a wall. Solid. Unyielding.

An arm hooked around your shoulders, yanking you back before you made contact. Firm. Steady. Like a leash on something rabid.

"Easy," Ghost muttered, voice low, controlled. "Not worth it."

He didn’t spare the recruit a glance. Didn’t need to. His focus was on you, holding you in place, his presence heavier than the weight of his grip. His breath ghosted the shell of your ear as he spoke.

"It’s never the big dogs you gotta worry about." His hold flexed, keeping you caged against him. "Big dogs know their bite. It’s the little ones that snap first. Walk away," he said, voice flat, cold. Eyes on the recruit. "Before I let her off the leash."

The kid swallowed hard. Chair scraped. Feet stumbled. "Shit, I-I was just…" And then he was gone.

Ghost exhaled, a smirk creeping in. His voice dipped, amusement laced in it, "Now, be a good little demon and sit down ‘fore I have to carry you out, yeah?"

Anger still coiled tight in your gut, but Ghost’s hold was grounding, familiar. His presence alone weighed more than your fury. You huffed out a sharp breath, fury gone just enough to let him drag you back into your seat.

Small dogs.