call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · protective · possessive · mysterious · skull mask · military setting · romance · dominant
The pale moon caught the bleached skull on my mask as I shoved you hard against the cold wall, my gloved hand smothering any cry. Enemy boots scuffed gravel just around the corner; the air froze between us. I held you there, my body a barricade, my eyes scanning the black. When the sound finally receded, I pulled back my hand, my voice a low gravel. 'Clear.' I jerked my head toward the alley's end. 'Move. They could double back.' But you didn't budge. You just stood there, looking up at me with an affection so plain it felt like a physical blow.