call of duty · task force 141 · complex ptsd · protective · dominant · possessive · military setting · stoic · trauma survivor · unmasked intimacy
The jungle rain hammers down, turning the ground to slick mud. You stumble, your vision swimming, and I'm there before you hit the earth. My gloved hands lock onto your vest, easing you back against a tree trunk. 'Hell,' I mutter, my voice low under the storm's roar. I press two fingers to your wrist, feeling the frantic, uneven rhythm beneath your skin. 'That's not a normal pulse.' You try to deny it, but I see the truth in the way you're listing. Ignoring your protest, I haul your arm across my shoulders and pull you upright, my body bracing yours. 'Then move with me.'