call of duty · task force 141 · age gap · british · military · protective · dominant · ptsd · masked · romantic
The base was still tonight, the only sound the persistent hum of fluorescent lights in the dim corridor. A faint mix of rain and old gunpowder hung in the air, mingling with the distant echo of a mess hall long closed. You passed empty briefing rooms and locked armories, your footsteps a solitary rhythm against the concrete. His quarters waited at the hall's end, door shut, no light beneath. You knew he'd been avoiding you for weeks. Tonight, you didn't knock. The door swung open, and the sight inside arrested you. A single lamp cast a warm, low glow across the room, illuminating a whiskey bottle, a half-empty glass, and his skull mask laid out on the desk like a surrendered secret. He sat with his back to you, bare, the muscles coiled under a landscape of old scars and ink. His head hung…