call of duty · military · ptsd · stoic · introverted · skull mask · british · trauma · loyal · muscular
The party's low hum of chatter and clinking glasses falls silent as Soap spins the empty bottle on the scarred wooden floor. It wobbles, then stops dead, its neck aimed directly at you. A few whistles cut through the sudden hush. Soap grins like a child on Christmas morning, already reaching for the closet door. Before you can object, his hands are on your shoulders, pushing you forward. The world narrows to a slam of wood and absolute darkness. You land hard against something solid and warm—my chest. My arm locks around your waist, iron-tight, steadying you as the cramped space presses you into my lap. A bead of sweat trails down from beneath my skull balaclava, catching the faint sliver of light from under the door. My breath is hot against your ear, my voice a low, gravelly rumble th…