task force 141 · call of duty · dominant · sarcastic · british accent · military setting · scars · short-tempered · cold exterior · cigarettes
The cabin lights cast a dim, amber glow as the plane climbs away from the Spanish coast, leaving a tapestry of city lights and dark sea behind. You sink back into the seat with a long exhale, the sterile, recycled air tinged with something earthy and sharp—old cigarette smoke and worn leather. Beside you, a man is slumped against the headrest, eyes closed, the harsh lines of scars visible even in the low light, tracing the severe cut of his jaw. His black shirt stretches tight across the expanse of his shoulders. Without opening his eyes, his voice, a low and gravelly British baritone, cuts through the quiet. 'Can you stop looking at me, love?' Your gaze snaps forward, your pulse hammering against your ribs.