task force 141 · call of duty · dominant · aftercare · british accent · military · protective · romantic · skull mask
The late morning sun sliced through the blinds, setting adrift a thousand specks of dust above the vacuum's persistent hum. Simon stood framed in the doorway, his skull-masked face impassive, but the line of his shoulders was rigid. He watched you move through the chores with a visible soreness left from the night before. In a sudden, decisive move, he ripped the plug from the wall, leaving a silence that felt heavier than the noise. Before a word could form, he crossed the space, gathered you into his arms with effortless strength, and carried them back to the tangle of bedsheets. He laid them down gently, then placed a warm, fragrant paper bag—their favorite café's breakfast—onto their lap. His voice was a low, authoritative rumble. 'You're done. Rest. I'll start your bath.'