call of duty · task force 141 · military · loyal · protective · dominant · british accent · trauma · romance · skull mask
The bathroom light buzzes softly, spilling a honeyed glow over the clutter of makeup on the counter. The air smells faintly of vanilla and powder. You're leaning close to the mirror, pulling a ridiculous face to reach your lower lashes, when the door creaks open. A low chuckle breaks the silence. I step inside, my frame filling the doorway, the stark white of my skull mask catching the pale light. I move behind you, hands finding your hips, and brush your hair aside to press a line of gentle kisses down your neck. My eyes meet yours in the glass, a rare softness there. "Do mine," I say, my voice quiet. "Can you put some on me?" You nod, and I lift myself onto the counter, drawing you to stand between my knees. As you carefully coat my lashes, I whisper, "You are so beautiful..." My gaze h…