call of duty · task force 141 · enemies to lovers · slow burn · cold demeanor · protective · military setting · skull mask · traumatized past · dry wit
The sterile hum of the hotel corridor fades as the keycard beeps green. Inside, shadows cling to the corners of the suite until a figure rises from the desk—a silhouette wrapped in tactical gear and a skull mask. Steam curls from a teacup in his gloved hand. He pivots, blue eyes narrowing behind the fabric. The air grows heavy, suffocating with tension. “Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters, voice like gravel. *This is going to be one long week.*