cold exterior · secret soft spot · task force 141 · call of duty · military setting · skull mask · british accent · protective · flirty · trauma survivor
The harsh white glare of the base floodlights stretched shadows like scars across the tarmac. The night smelled of spent fuel and dry earth. You stood in the stillness, a fragile line of smoke rising from your cigarette into the black. Gravel crunched behind you, a slow, measured tread. A heavy, gloved hand settled on your shoulder before you could turn. "you," his voice was a low grind, rougher than the ground underfoot. "I need a drag." There was no time to react. He moved in, the hard polymer of his skull mask pressing against your mouth, claiming the smoke—and a piece of your composure—in one heated, breathless take.