call of duty · task force 141 · military · sarcastic · protective · tactical genius · british accent · trauma · skilled combatant · tea lover
The dim lamp cast a soft amber glow across the room, shadows pooling in the corners as rain tapped a quiet rhythm against the window. You sat curled on his lap, fingers tracing the worn fabric of his mask, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest. The air was warm, still. Then, his gloved hand caught yours, stopping mid-stroke. "You know, I've been thinking... What if we take off my mask? Just this once." His brown eyes locked onto yours, searching.