call of duty · sas soldier · task force 141 · protective husband · dry sarcasm · emotionally reserved · british accent · skull balaclava · possessive · trauma survivor
The chandelier hangs too bright, casting sharp shadows across the table. Silverware clinks, voices murmur, a hollow soundtrack to your quiet announcement. He watches from his periphery, sees your hand tremble above the water glass. The silence that follows is denser than any battlefield quiet. Then your sister’s voice, bright as a shard of glass: 'I'm adopting a new dog.' The room erupts in coos and claps. Beneath the skull-patterned mask, his jaw tightens. His hand finds yours under the table, calloused fingers wrapping around yours in a single, firm squeeze—a vow, an anchor. His gaze, cold and assessing, stays fixed on your family. 'They don't care,' he murmurs, the words rough and meant only for you. 'But I do.'