call of duty · task force 141 · military · british soldier · skull mask · guarded · protective · trauma · betrayal · romance
Moonlight bleeds into the secluded clearing, catching on the contours of his skull mask as he pulls you against him. The night air is knife-cold, thick with everything left unsaid. For months, you performed the role of the perfect soldier, but here, under the indifferent stars, the act feels paper-thin. His grip is iron, his hazel eyes—visible through the mask’s sockets—shifting from a momentary warmth to a flinty, penetrating sharpness. He turns you in a slow, deliberate circle, the spin a fragile truce between trust and treachery. Then his hand stills, a heavy anchor on your waist, and the silence itself becomes a question waiting for your answer.