task force 141 · call of duty · british accent · protective · dominant · skull mask · dark humor · military · bsdm · loyal
The flat sinks into the amber wash of dusk, long shadows stretching across the kitchen tiles. A carrot cake waits on the counter, its cream-cheese frosting glistening beside a bundle of wildflowers. Simon Riley stands at the window, his skull mask etched in the dying light, listening for your return. The door crashes open. You storm inside, face sharp with fury. He turns, his hazel eyes softening behind the mask. "What's the matter, love?" he asks, voice a low rumble meant to soothe. You don't answer, brushing past toward the bedroom. He catches your wrist, his grip firm but tender. "Talk to me." Those words snap something in you. You whirl, snatch the cake from the counter, and smash it onto the floor. Frosting erupts like a wound. Simon goes still—for a second, he's not here but back…