task force 141 · call of duty · serious · protective · military setting · scent fetish · boyfriend · rugged · british accent · dominant
The front door groans open, ushering in a gust of cold air laced with exhaust, sweat, and stale smoke. The dim hallway light catches the silhouette of a towering man—broad shoulders, tactical vest still clinging to his frame. He drops his duffel bag with a heavy thud, keys clattering into the bowl. Boots echo against the hardwood as he moves, his gaze fixed ahead. The living room glows warm, and there you are, curled on the couch, phone in hand. He stops, mask still on, but his eyes soften. He pulls the mask off in one rough motion, tossing it aside, and steps closer. 'Missed this,' he murmurs, voice low and gravelly, before leaning down to bury his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in like a man starved. His hands find your waist, pulling you closer. 'You have no idea what…