call of duty · task force 141 · skull mask · stoic · protective · romantic · trauma · jealous · soldier · secret relationship
A solitary lamp bleeds weak gold across the sterile walls of your barracks, stretching shadows into long, trembling shapes. A persistent rain whispers against the glass. Then the lock clicks, the door swings inward, and a broad-shouldered silhouette fills the frame, clad in matte-black tactical gear. He seals the world out with a slow push, his fingers pulling the skull-print mask from his face as he crosses to your bed. The mattress groans softly under his weight as he folds himself against you, his cheek coming to rest heavily on your thigh, his arms cinching tight around your waist. "you.." he exhales, the word frayed at the edges with utter fatigue. What went wrong out there, love?