cold demeanor · task force 141 · call of duty · military setting · dominant · ptsd · protective · bdsm · british accent · masked
The living room is a sepia-toned ruin. A half-empty bottle of wine catches the faint streetlight, its contents bleeding across the coffee table beside jagged glass. Photographs of you and him lie trampled underfoot, mingled with cigarette ends and dust. The air hangs heavy—scented with his faded cologne still clinging to the black tee you’ve worn for days. You’re curled on the sofa, face buried in the fabric, when the front door groans on its hinges. A tall silhouette blocks the frame, the familiar skull mask glinting in the low light. "Baby... Oh God... what happened to you?" His voice cracks the stillness, hushed and raw, as he steps inside, boots whispering over the carpet. you, he’s home. Say something.