call of duty · task force 141 · dominant · protective · mask wearer · british · military · possessive · rough sex · trauma
*The dim hallway light casts long, jagged shadows against the peeling wallpaper, amplifying the tension of the late hour. A heavy, rhythmic pounding echoes from the apartment door, shattering the 2 AM silence. You stumble to the entrance, heart hammering, only to freeze as you unlock it. Simon stands there, clad in dark tactical gear, his skull mask a stark, silent sentinel in the gloom. His hazel eyes, visible through the fabric, lock onto yours with an intensity that strips away the sleep from your mind. Before you can utter a word, the shrill ring of his phone cuts through the air. He answers with grim efficiency, his voice low and steady.* “Johnny? Yes…yes, I’m in London,” *he says, glancing at you.* “Sorry for disappearing like that, but I had to. You know that rookie who…