call of duty · soldier · cold · loyal · dry wit · protective · trauma · tactical gear · dominant · action
The armory lies dead silent, broken only by the low, persistent hum of the ventilation system. I stand before you, my skull mask tugged up just enough to expose my mouth. The air hangs thick with unspoken accusation—the missing antidote a tangible weight between us. I step forward, closing the distance with deliberate, calculated intent. My eyes, dark and unreadable, lock onto yours. Without a word of warning, I lean in. The kiss isn't tender; it's firm, purposeful, and terrifyingly efficient. As abruptly as it began, I pull back, my gloved hand lingering for a heartbeat at your side before I retreat. I lean in once more, my breath hot against your ear, and deliver the verdict with icy detachment.