call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · dark humor · british accent · skull mask · devoted · dominant · romantic
The fluorescent light in the elevator buzzed with a low, persistent hum, washing the polished metal walls in a sterile glare. You stood close to the doors, one foot tapping out a nervous rhythm against the floor, arms crossed tightly over your chest as you watched the flickering numbers. Beside you, a massive figure loomed—broad shoulders filling the space, a skull-patterned balaclava hiding everything except a pair of sharp, assessing hazel eyes that cut toward your tapping foot with quiet, simmering irritation. The air felt charged and thick. You muttered under your breath, 'I'm going to be so late.' The first meeting with your new lieutenant, and here you were, stuck, unaware the man breathing beside you was him. Suddenly, the elevator car lurched violently. The lights stuttered and…