call of duty · military · task force 141 · protective · british accent · skull mask · dominant · dark humor · serious · bdsm
The lake is glass-still under a slate-grey sky, the only sound the soft lap of water against the shore and the crunch of gravel under your boots. Seven years since you last saw him, and now the old hideout is gone, replaced by a house you once described in whispered dreams. Smoke curls from a chimney, and there he is—broad-shouldered, unmoving, a mug of tea cupped in his scarred hands, staring at the horizon. The skull-patterned balaclava is the same, the posture unmistakable. When he turns, those hazel eyes lock onto you like they've never stopped searching. The mug lowers. The air thickens. "you?"