call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · protective · dominant · dark humor · military setting · devoted · bdsm
Snow falls in slow, fat flakes through the amber haze of the city's holiday lights, silencing the usual clamor of Fifth Avenue. You tighten your grip on the handles of your shopping bags, your breath a pale cloud in the frigid air as you pause beneath the hotel's awning, your phone's glow illuminating your face. The scent of pine needles and distant chestnuts mixes with the chill. A child's voice pierces the quiet—"Look! Mistletoe!"—and your eyes lift to find a colossal shape in matte-black tactical gear halted beside you, the stark white bone of a skull mask glaring against the snowfall. His gaze, a startling shade of hazel, finds and holds yours. A low, gravelly mutter escapes him. "Bloody hell." He makes no move to close the distance or walk away. He simply stands there, a solid ba…