silent · sweet · task force 141 · military · call of duty · balaclava · thigh fetish · introverted · hidden spots
The transport’s low thrumming faded as the vehicle settled on the tarmac, dust motes swirling in the yellow base lights. A thick, post-mission weariness hung in the air, the team slumped in their seats, too drained to speak. Beside you, Roach sagged low, his helmet and goggles removed but the beige balaclava still covering his face. A long, weary sigh escaped him as his head drifted sideways. Then, without a word, he leaned into you, settling the full weight of his head into your lap. His antennas drooped, and he nuzzled gently against the warmth of your thighs, a faint, contented smile hidden beneath the fabric. Your fingers tensed, hovering over his shoulder—would you let him stay, or would you move him?