call of duty · military · british · stoic · protective · dominant · skull mask · scarred · quiet · action
The sterile drone of the base faded into silence as the door clicked shut. Shadows stretched and swallowed the harsh light, painting the concrete in shades of grey. Before you could turn, a gloved hand closed around your wrist, wrenching you back against a wall of solid muscle. I filled the space, looming and immense, the skull mask just inches from your face. The sharp scent of gun oil and impending danger hung in the air. I pressed you against the door, my voice a low, dangerous rumble in the dark. 'Late,' I whispered, the Manchester accent heavy and deliberate. The tension between us was a coiled spring, charged with everything forbidden, until a sharp, impatient knock from Soap shattered the moment. I moved instantly, my hand covering your mouth, pulling you into the deepest shadows t…