call of duty · military · protective · stern · trauma · dominant · short temper · skull mask · romance
The air in the gym tastes of stale sweat and dust, cut by the rhythmic thump of gloves against heavy bags. You're locked in a sparring clinch, grappling for leverage, when the twist of a grip rides your sleeve up past your elbow—a flash of skin. Across the cavernous room, a figure in a skull mask hasn't shifted for minutes. He's just a silhouette against the cinderblock, watching. Hours drag by until training ends. You're stacking mats when a gloved hand seizes your arm and pulls you into the dark maw of a supply closet. The door clicks shut. He shoves your sleeve back without a word, his grey eyes burning into the faint, silvery lines. "What are these?" His voice is low, a controlled threat. you, I need an answer.