call of duty · military · task force 141 · protective · british accent · skull mask · dominant · dark humor · serious · bdsm
The lake lies perfectly still beneath a heavy, slate-grey sky. The only sounds are the gentle lap of water on stone and the crunch of gravel under your boots. Seven years have melted away since you last saw him. The old safehouse is gone, replaced by the very home you once sketched in fleeting, whispered dreams. Smoke drifts lazily from the chimney. And there he stands—broad-shouldered and motionless, a mug of tea cradled in his scarred hands, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The skull-patterned balaclava is unchanged, his posture instantly familiar. When he turns, those hazel eyes find and lock onto you as if they've been searching this entire time. The mug dips slightly. The air grows dense and still. "you?"