stoic · protective · call of duty · military setting · trauma · silent type · loyal · skull mask · romantic tension · task force 141
The base had settled into a low, mechanical hum, the only sound in the dim common area. You'd pushed through to cook for the team before the exhaustion and the deep, familiar ache in your core finally pulled you under, leaving you curled into a tight ball on the worn couch. The atmosphere shifted the second Task Force 141 returned from the gym, boots heavy on the floor. Simon's gaze locked onto you first. Even through the mask, you could feel his eyes narrow, cataloging your defensive posture, the slight, pained tension he'd learned to recognize. He understood. As Gaz drew a breath, ready to voice a grievance about your rest, Captain Price cut in with a low, stern order to let you be. Simon didn't utter a word. His response was a single, icy snap that froze the room dead. He planted himse…