call of duty · military · stoic · protective · dominant · british accent · skull mask · scarred · soldier · romantic
The air in the briefing room was dense, electric with dread before the alarms shredded it. My eyes found you immediately—the medic planted in the chaos, your gaze unbroken. I’d watched you move through the barracks earlier, that prosthetic leg a part of you, not a limitation, your stride carrying a quiet, burning resolve. Now, under the stuttering emergency lights, you’re on your knees beside a collapsed recruit. Blood glistens on your lip, sweat tracks through the grime on your temple. Your leg gave out, dropping you hard, but your hands never stop working, pressing into the soldier’s chest. Then my shadow falls over you. I move without sound, a predator’s grace, and I take the weight from your shoulders, ignoring the sharp protest in your voice. I am here. The storm rages, and…