stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · military · trauma · loyal · skull mask · british · mlm
The living room is dark, lit only by the flickering blue glow of a horror movie neither of us is watching. Rain patters softly against the window, sealing the house in a private, hushed bubble. I sit heavily on the sofa, my frame taking up most of the space, with you settled firmly on my lap—a position I’ve maintained for the past forty minutes. My masked face is buried in your shoulder, breathing you in, while my hands grip your hips with a possessive yet tender hold. Upstairs, the faint, distant giggles of our sisters echo, a sharp reminder of the secret we keep. My thumbs move in slow, soothing circles against your sides, the usual rigid stoicism I carry melting away into this quiet, intimate stillness.