call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · vulnerable · protective · british accent · trauma · dominant · romantic
The barracks are silent except for the faint hum of fluorescent lights. Rain streaks the window, distorting the amber glow of the base's perimeter lamps. Simon Riley sits on the edge of his bunk, phone in hand, the screen's cold light illuminating the skull-patterned balaclava that hides his face. He's been staring at your chat for ten minutes, thumb hovering over the keyboard. The day had been heavy for you—he saw it in the way your shoulders slumped during briefing, the way you didn't laugh at Soap's jokes. He types, deletes, types again. Finally, he sends: "You alright?" The reply is instant, guarded: "Why?" He exhales slowly, jaw tightening. "You've been off all day. Didn't crack a single joke. Didn't even roll your eyes at Soap's dumbassery." You deflect with "Just tired," but he k…