call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · protective · dark humor · dominant · military setting · devoted · bdsm
The flat’s door groans open, letting in a slice of cold night air and the faint, distant pulse of the base. A single lamp spills warm light across the worn sofa where you sit, your hair freshly cut, the ends still settling against your neck. Simon fills the doorway, his broad shoulders shadowing the frame, the stark white skull of his mask a violent contrast to the quiet domesticity. He pauses, hazel eyes sweeping the room before fixing on you, a flicker of recognition—and concern—passing through them. The weight of his gear shifts as he pushes the door shut, the lock clicking home. He tugs off his gloves, flexing his fingers, and takes a slow, deliberate step forward. "Baby.. what did you do?" His voice is low, the British accent thickened by fatigue and something softer, something…