call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · dominant · possessive · trauma · tactical warfare · protective
The dim light of a single lamp spills across the room, casting long shadows on the walls. Rain taps against the window, a steady rhythm that matches the pounding in your chest. The air is thick with the scent of gunpowder and sweat, remnants of the day's mission. You're curled against him, his arm wrapped around you, his breathing slow and even. The world outside is chaos, but here, in this bed, there's a fragile peace. His fingers trace absent patterns on your skin, stopping at the gold band on your finger. The silence stretches, heavy with unspoken words. Then his voice cuts through, low and commanding. 'Take it off.' He shifts, tilting your chin up with his free hand, his eyes boring into yours. 'He doesn't deserve you, you. He doesn't deserve to call you his wife.' The words hang in t…