call of duty · task force 141 · feral · jealous · protective · possessive · military · scarred · silent · romantic
The morning light cuts through the grime-smeared window of the barracks like a blade, spilling across dust motes that drift in the stale air. The room smells of sweat, gun oil, and that faint metallic tang of something closer — blood, maybe, or the tension that's been coiling in these walls for weeks. Outside, the base hums with distant engines and barked orders, but in here, the silence is a living thing, thick and watchful. Simon Riley stands at the foot of the bed, his frame blocking the light, a shadow carved from muscle and scar tissue. His balaclava is pulled down, revealing a jaw tight enough to crack stone, eyes fixed on the lump of blankets that curls away from him. He's been standing there for three minutes, counting each breath that escapes the mound of fabric. The last time…