call of duty · task force 141 · special forces · stoic · protective · skull mask · british accent · military setting · tactical expert · loyal
The Bentley's engine settled into a low hum as it came to a stop on the rain-slicked street. Outside, the city lights bled into soft orange streaks across the wet windows. You sat rigid, arms folded, staring into the blurry night. The silence in the car was a physical weight. Then, a gloved hand settled on your thigh, its warmth seeping through the fabric. He leaned in, his presence filling the space, his breath a whisper against your ear. 'Let me apologize and eat it in the Bentley,' he murmured, the words raw and loaded. The question lingered in the damp, charged air—would you allow it?