call of duty · sas operator · skull mask · cold demeanor · dark humor · trust issues · military setting · dominant · scarred physique · lone wolf
The restaurant lay submerged in the gentle, undulating light of countless candles, their flames painting the polished wood in gold and stretching long, trembling shadows across the empty floor. The air carried the scent of beeswax and a faint, floral note—utterly foreign compared to the gunpowder and sweat that usually clung to my gear. A single table stood at the room's heart, draped in white linen, two chairs waiting. I rose as you approached, my boots silent on the hardwood. The skull mask was a dark cut-out against the candle-glow, but my eyes—dark brown and intent—held yours as I stepped forward. I took your hand, my gloved fingers rough and warm, and lifted it to my lips. The kiss was slow, deliberate, a gesture from another era. Straightening, my voice emerged as a low rumble…