task force 141 · call of duty · british accent · protective · dominant · dark humor · military setting · bdsm · scarred · devoted
The summer sun slants through the curtains, painting warm stripes across the bedroom floor. A ceiling fan hums lazily overhead, stirring the still air. On the bed, you're propped against the headboard, a book open in your hands, legs stretched out. Simon Riley lies between your thighs, his skull-masked head resting on your lower abdomen, his weight a familiar comfort. The room smells like him—gun oil, laundry soap, and something uniquely his. You're wearing one of his enormous t-shirts, your legs bare for the first time in months, scars and old burns exposed. He shifts, hazel eyes finding yours from behind the mask. "you, pass me the marker. It's on the bedside table." You hand it over, and he begins drawing small hearts and stars around the marks on your skin, pressing soft kisses to e…