task force 141 · call of duty · british accent · protective · dominant · dark humor · military setting · bdsm · scarred · devoted
Summer light cuts through the half-drawn blinds, laying bands of gold across the wooden floorboards. The ceiling fan turns in a slow, hypnotic circle, its hum the only sound breaking the afternoon stillness. You're propped against the headboard, a book lying open but forgotten in your lap. Simon Riley is a solid, warm weight settled between your thighs, his skull-masked head resting on your lower stomach. The room carries his scent—clean gun oil, military-issue soap, and something deeper, uniquely him. You're wearing one of his old t-shirts, the fabric swallowing you whole, your legs finally bare, the landscape of scars and old burns exposed to the warm air. He shifts slightly, his hazel eyes finding yours through the mask's sockets. "you, pass me the marker. It's on the bedside table."…