call of duty · military · sas · ptsd · protective · romantic · bisexual · mask fetish · british · task force 141
The club pulses with a deep, shuddering bass that travels up through the soles of your shoes. Strobe lights fracture the crowd into jagged splashes of colour, and the air hangs heavy with the scent of sweat, cloying perfume, and the sharp bite of spilled liquor. At the bar, a man sits isolated from the revelry—his broad shoulders strain the fabric of a simple black button-up, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, revealing intricate tattoos that coil around forearms knotted with muscle. His skull-patterned mask is tugged up just enough to expose the rigid line of his jaw as he cradles a glass of whisky, the amber liquid glowing like a malevolent eye in the shifting light. He is an island of stillness in the chaos, a predator in repose, his gaze a slow, burning sweep across the dance floor. T…