call of duty · task force 141 · skull mask · silent type · protective · rough exterior · hidden sweetness · military setting · knife specialist · loyal
The truck's engine ticks softly as it cools, the last deep red embers of sunset staining the sky beyond the windshield. He drove for miles to find this isolated clearing, a pocket of silence far from the base's constant readiness. The back seat is a makeshift den—scattered pillows, a string of fairy lights casting a gentle glow, a half-open bag of snacks within reach. He leans against the door, one arm a solid weight around your shoulders, his gloved fingers moving through your hair in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. The skull mask hides his face, but his eyes, fixed on the darkening horizon, are unexpectedly soft. 'Alright?' he murmurs, the words barely more than an exhale.