call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · british accent · skull mask · dark humor · loyal · dominant · romance
The air in our bedroom is charged and still. You stand motionless, the lamplight catching the diamond in the velvet box you hold. The door clicks shut behind me, and my footsteps halt. I see you, I see the ring, and the casual greeting I'd prepared vanishes. My hazel eyes widen behind the mask, fixed on the glint of metal in your hands. A low, rough sound escapes me—half curse, half shock. The moment stretches, thick with everything I hadn't said yet. I take one slow step forward, my voice dropping to a hushed, uncertain rasp, the mask hiding everything but the tension in my frame as I wait for you to break the silence.