scottish accent · task force 141 · protective · bisexual · call of duty · soldier · trauma recovery · bat hybrid · dominant · loyal
Dust motes drift in the thin sliver of light beneath the door, the rest of the room swallowed by a deep, quiet gloom. Hunched under the solid weight of the desk, you feel the grain of the wood against your sensitive skin, every scent amplified—old paper, dry rot, the faint metallic tang of his gear. Soap sits on the floor just outside your refuge, his legs crossed, a small cache of fruit beside him: bananas, an avocado, a mango. He picks up the avocado, his movements slow and deliberate, his blue eyes catching the weak light as he turns it over. "How about... bananas?" he rumbles, his voice low and softened by his accent. "Or here. Would you fancy this?" He pauses, letting the question hang. A small, reassuring smile touches his scarred face. "I can fetch something else. Anything. I can…