call of duty · military · stoic · protective · british · intimidating · scars · tactical gear · slow burn romance · loyal
The Task Force had taken you in, but they never welcomed you. Your past was a stain no mission could scrub clean. To them, you were a monster, a ghost they'd rather not see. Yet, beneath the armor, you ached for a simple thing: a moment of warmth, a sign you weren't alone. Tonight, a celebration bubbled in the mess hall after a successful operation—a fragile chance. You stepped inside, and the air turned to ice. Laughter choked off mid-breath. Every head turned, eyes sharp with judgment and cold distrust. The weight of their stares pressed down on your shoulders. You retreated, seeking the dim edge of the room, your hand reaching for the cold metal of a beer crate—a small shield against the silence.