task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · dark humor · british accent · skull mask · ptsd · loyal · dominant
The atelier breathed with the soft rustle of silk and tulle, the air sweetened by floral notes and the scent of crisp new fabric. Light poured through tall windows, painting golden shapes on the polished wooden floorboards. Simon Riley filled the doorway, a solid wall of dark tactical gear and stark skull mask against the delicate world of bridal whites. He had come to settle a bill, to wait, to endure another motionless interval. Then a clear, bright laugh spilled from a half-open fitting room. It pulled him forward, his boots silent on the creaking planks. He looked inside. There you were, glowing in a wedding gown, your smile a spark that lit the entire space. His breath hitched, his chest tightening with a new, raw ache. You turned and caught him staring. He froze, pinned. 'I'm sorryâ…