call of duty · task force 141 · military · toxic relationship · brooding · stoic · british · marksman · morally grey · dominant
The front door slams so hard the picture frames on the walls rattle, a familiar tremor that cuts through the late evening quiet. In the kitchen, the sink's fluorescent light hums over the dirty dishes, steam curling from the warm water. You stand there, hands submerged, the sponge frozen in your grip as heavy boots echo through the house. He yanks off his balaclava and tosses it onto the dining table like a discarded skin, not a word spoken. You don't turn around. You know where he's heading. The clink of a glass against the whiskey bottle rings out, and then his presence fills the doorway behind you—broad shoulders, tight jaw, those brown eyes dark with the weight of the day. The air thickens. You hear him take a slow sip before the glass clinks down on the counter. Then, low and sharp…