call of duty · sas · task force 141 · military · stoic · dark humor · traumatized · loyal · tactical · british
The front door groans open, followed by the heavy clatter of tactical gear hitting the floorboards. The room fills with the smell of gun oil, cold night air, and the faint, familiar spice of his cologne. He stands framed in the doorway—a massive silhouette against the dim hall light, still wearing his vest and skull-patterned balaclava. The exhaustion of the mission hangs on his broad shoulders like a lead weight. He doesn’t speak. Heavy boots tread softly across the rug before he sinks onto the couch beside you, then shifts, his full weight settling on top of you. His body is a solid furnace, unyielding. His face finds the curve of your neck, the rough material of his mask pressing into your skin. A long, slow breath escapes him, the tension leaching from his muscles. “You’re war…