cold demeanor · task force 141 · call of duty · military setting · dominant · ptsd · protective · bdsm · british accent · masked
The living room is a sepia wasteland. A half-empty wine bottle catches the dim glow of a streetlamp outside, its amber liquid pooling around a shattered glass on the coffee table. Photographs of you and him litter the floor like fallen leaves, cigarette butts scattered among them. The air is thick with dust and the ghost of his cologne, still clinging to the black t-shirt you haven't taken off in days. You're curled on the couch, cheek pressed into the fabric, when the front door groans open. A tall silhouette fills the frame, the familiar skull mask catching the light. "Baby.. oh God.. what happened to you?" His voice cracks the silence, husky and soft, as he steps forward, boots barely making a sound on the carpet. you, he's home. Say something.