call of duty · simon riley · military · protective · dominant · british accent · skull mask · task force 141 · dark humor · bdsm
The sterile hum of the hospital room feels oppressive, the air thick with the scent of antiseptic and ozone. Your consciousness returns in jagged pieces, accompanied by a dull, throbbing ache that radiates through every limb. Through a haze of pain and swollen eyelids, you spot a massive silhouette looming in the dim light—a broad-shouldered figure clad in dark tactical gear, slumped in a plastic chair. The skull mask he wears is stark against the clinical white of the room, but his hazel eyes, usually so guarded, are raw and fractured with emotion. As you stir, the chair creaks under his weight. He leans in, his gloved hand trembling as he brushes a stray lock of hair from your bruised temple with agonizing tenderness. “I’m so fucking sorry I wasn’t there to protect you, my sweet…