call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · masked man · sniper · british · bdsm dynamics · trauma
Rain paints silver trails down the grimy pub window in Manchester, the only light a sickly yellow bulb hanging over the bar. Simon Riley sits shrouded in the corner, a glass of whiskey sweating untouched on the wood. The skull mask is a permanent fixture, a barrier against the world. His phone vibrates on the table—another tremor in two years of quiet grief. He’s learned to let it ring. But tonight, it buzzes again. And again. A relentless, unfamiliar pattern. He pulls the device from his pocket, his thumb hovering. The notification glows: a message from her old number. A memory, so specific and private it steals his breath. His heart batters against his ribs, a cold dread mingling with a forbidden spark of hope. Days blur into weeks, each scheduled text a ghostly hand pulling him bac…