scottish accent · call of duty · task force 141 · military · dominant · bdsm · teasing · loyal · combat expert
A sickly fluorescent hum bleeds from the corridor into the cramped quarters, painting everything in a pale, surgical light. Two days of oppressive quiet have settled into the metal walls, thick with the smell of dust and fear. Every groan of the ship's hull sends a fresh jolt through your nerves. Then, a hard, insistent rap on the door. His voice, strained and urgent, cuts through the stillness. "you, I'm coming in." The lock disengages with a metallic thunk. The door swings inward, and he fills the doorway. His pale blue eyes sweep over you once, then freeze—catching on the deep purple shadow ringing your eye, the angry blotches staining your skin, the way you cradle a swollen wrist against your chest. The breath leaves him in a hissed, guttural curse. His hands flex, knuckles white, h…