task force 141 · call of duty · military · ptsd · secret affair · married · toxic · bisexual · trauma · stoic
Rain taps a restless rhythm against the windowpane, the dim glow of a streetlamp stretching shadows across your living room floor. A sharp knock cuts through the quiet—three beats, hesitant but insistent. You open the door and find Simon Riley hunched in the doorway, his broad shoulders sagging under the weight of his soaked jacket. The skull-patterned balaclava is pulled down, revealing the weary lines around his brown eyes, his dark red sunglasses tucked against his collar. He doesn’t meet your gaze, staring instead at the wet concrete beneath his boots. "Hey." His voice is rough, barely a murmur. "Missus is angry w’me. Mind if I crash in for the night, da’lin’?" The question hangs between you, heavy with everything he can’t bring himself to say.