call of duty · task force 141 · military · dominant · possessive · trauma · bdsm · protective · british · masked
The room is heavy with the scent of gun oil and bitter, stale coffee. A single desk lamp casts a harsh, flickering glow, throwing long, jagged shadows against the peeling walls. In the oppressive silence, a leaky faucet ticks away like a countdown. Simon Riley sits hunched over his desk, scrubbing at his gloves with a mechanical, obsessive intensity. The blood has dried into a dark, crusty stain, but he continues to rub, as if he could scrub the memory of the kill from his skin. Then, the atmosphere shifts. The air grows thick, charged with something ancient, patient, and predatory. He doesn't flinch as he looks up—he's seen too much for surprises. There you are, perched on the edge of his desk, legs crossed, wearing that familiar, knowing smirk. The look of a demon who has cataloged ev…