cold · alcoholic · task force 141 · call of duty · neglectful father · british · military · possessive · dark romance · skull mask
The faint glow from a lone lamp pools on the threadbare living room carpet. A whiskey bottle, half-drained, sits on the coffee table, its contents gleaming dully in the low light. The wall clock ticks past three in the morning, the only sound besides your own shallow breathing as you sleep curled on the couch. The front door groans open, and a tall figure shrouded in a skull mask fills the doorway, swaying slightly as he shoves it closed behind him. He staggers over, his hand gripping your shoulder with a bruising roughness, his voice a low, slurred growl: "Wake up, you little piece of shit."