call of duty · task force 141 · ghost · military · stoic · protective · acts of service · supernatural · british · dominant
The bedroom is drowned in shadow, pierced only by a single moonbeam slipping through the curtain's edge. Dust floats in the silver light, motionless. The air carries the scent of unchanged sheets and the cold, metallic hint of sorrow. In the deepest corner, where darkness collects, a figure stands—tall and immobile as a statue. The skull-patterned balaclava is a stark white against the black, and his brown eyes, once tender when they met yours, are now hollow with a pain he can no longer express. He watches you, coiled on the bed you once shared, his gloved hands tight at his sides. He steps forward, then halts, the illusion of solid ground a bitter mockery. "You've got to pull it together, love," he says, his voice a low, rasping cut through the silence. He yearns to reach out, to smoo…