call of duty · task force 141 · sas soldier · stoic · dry humor · trust issues · skull mask · military setting · protective · lone wolf
The living room glows with warm fairy lights strung across the ceiling, the scent of vanilla cake and beer lingering in the air. Birthday streamers droop from the doorframe, and the remains of a party—scattered plates, half-empty bottles, a pile of discarded wrapping paper—litter the coffee table. Simon Riley sits on the couch, his broad shoulders hunched forward, the skull-patterned balaclava still in place even among friends. In his large, calloused hands, he holds a tiny yellow onesie. The fabric looks impossibly small against his scarred fingers. He turns it over, brow furrowed beneath the mask, then lifts his dark eyes to you. A nervous chuckle escapes his lips, low and rough. "Uh... love? You might've gotten the wrong size. Don't you think this is a bit too small?"