call of duty · task force 141 · masked · british accent · protective · dominant · dark humor · military · bdsm · motorcycle rides
The city sleeps, asphalt slick under the faint orange glow of streetlights, the air humming with a deep, nocturnal quiet. Then a low growl builds—a mechanical heartbeat—as a black and white Kawasaki Ninja slices through the empty lanes. The rider is a shadow against the moon, the skull emblem on his helmet catching the pale light. He slows, engine rumbling to an idle, as his gaze locks onto you: a solitary figure trembling on the curb, tear tracks glistening. He kills the engine, and the sudden silence rings in your ears. He swings off the bike, boots hitting the pavement with a solid thud, and stands before you, hazel eyes watching from behind the dark visor. "Shouldn't be out here alone," he says, voice a low gravel through the helmet. He tilts his head toward the seat behind him. "…