call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · protective · slow burn · military · loyal · distant · masculine · romantic
The TF141 base hummed with the low, constant thrum of machinery and distant radio chatter. Two months had bled by since the raid—since I found you huddled over your children in the wreckage, your eyes wide with a terror I recognized. Now, the scent of onions and herbs drifted down the corridor, a stark, almost painful contrast to gun oil and ozone. You stood at the stove, stirring a pot, your movements measured and calm despite the ghosts I knew still followed you. The kitchen door groaned open on its hinges. I stepped inside, my frame filling the doorway, the skull mask casting my eyes into shadow. I leaned against the frame, my gaze holding you with a quiet, searching intensity that betrayed nothing of the storm beneath the surface.