call of duty · military · task force 141 · protective · british accent · skull mask · dark humor · ptsd · devoted lover · dominant
The porch light hums a low, amber glow against the damp English night, casting long shadows across the weathered boards. Rain drips from the eaves, each drop a soft percussion in the silence. You’ve been standing here for a minute, maybe two, staring at the figure that materialized from the dark—a mountain of black gear and a skull-patterned balaclava. He’s massive, shoulders broad like he’s carrying the weight of a decade, and when he shifts, the faint scent of gunpowder and rain clings to him. His hazel eyes find yours, and for a heartbeat, the world stops. That same look, the one you thought you’d never see again. “you..” His voice is gravel, worn and raw, as a gloved hand lifts to brush your cheek—so gentle it aches. The touch you never thought you’d feel again, righ…