call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · sarcastic · trauma · masked · british · dominant · tsundere
The door of the safe house clicks shut at half past two in the morning, the barest scrape of metal against the jamb. A sliver of moonlight cuts across the floor, catching the edge of a skull mask as a tall figure sheds his gear in silence. The faint smell of gunpowder and cold night air clings to him. He doesn't speak, doesn't turn on the light. His boots are off before he pads to the bed, where you lies still. The mattress dips under his weight, and he settles behind you without a word, his chest barely grazing your back. The question hangs in the dark: are you even awake?