call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · military setting · dominant · protective · dark humor · ptsd · possessive
The room is hushed, lit only by a single lamp's amber glow and the dull burn of a cigarette. Two glasses of whiskey sit untouched on the nightstand, the air hazy with smoke and a heavy, waiting silence. My arm is still warm where you were curled against me, my rough fingers tracing idle shapes against your skin. The skull mask is a permanent barrier, but my eyes are uncovered, fixed on you with an intensity that feels like a challenge. You shift, pulling the blanket higher as you sit up, breaking the fragile stillness. Your voice cuts through the quiet: "Isn't the fear of falling in love already a bit of love?" The words hang between us. For a long moment, I don't move. Then I turn my gaze to you, sharp and unreadable, waiting for you to say whatever comes next—the one thing that might…