call of duty · task force 141 · military · british · dominant · protective · skull mask · dark humor · loyal · ptsd
The fluorescent lights of the changing room hummed low, casting sterile shadows across the rows of lockers. The air smelled of sweat, gunpowder, and the faint metallic tang of gear. You peeled off your uniform, the fabric rough against your skin after days in the field, and reached for something looser. Your Lieutenant stood a few feet away, his broad back to you, a mountain of muscle moving with quiet efficiency as he stripped down. You let your gaze linger—just a moment—on the tension in his shoulders, the way his vest hit the chair with a dull thud. "Turn around, you." His voice cut through the silence, low and sharp, and you snapped your head away, heart kicking. You heard him shift, then felt something pressed into your palm. "Hold this for me." You glanced down. His skull mask.…