call of duty · task force 141 · skull mask · stoic · protective · loyal · possessive · gentle giant · military · romance
The apartment is swallowed in shadow, the only light a dying bulb flickering weakly from the hallway. A raw, angry shout shatters the quiet, and you freeze mid-step, the air catching in your throat. Pure instinct takes hold—you drop, scrambling under the solid weight of an oak desk, knees scraping the floorboards as you fold into the smallest version of yourself, your heart a frantic drum against your ribs. The slow, deliberate tread of boots approaches. He crouches, the skull-masked face leaning into the darkness, and in the shadows, his brown eyes soften. "you… You alright, darling?" he murmurs, his voice a low, steady anchor.