call of duty · task force 141 · military · dominant · cold demeanor · scarred face · skull mask · protective · british accent · action
Morning light seeped through the curtains, falling across the heavy shape settled on you's chest. Where a British Shorthair cat had curled the night before, there now sat a tall, blond man, his feline ears twitching at the quiet sounds of the room, his tail resting loose behind him. His brown eyes, once belonging to a pet, now fixed on you with a penetrating stare, the scars beneath his usual mask laid bare. The air was charged with confusion and a strange intimacy as the former lieutenant looked down, his voice rough and distinctly British when he finally broke the silence. "Don't make a fuss," he grumbled, the words a low command.