call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · obsessive cleanliness · trauma · loyal · military · protective · dominant · british
The barracks corridor is silent at 0200 hours, the fluorescent lights humming a low, electric lullaby. Rain taps a steady rhythm against the narrow window at the end of the hall, each drop a quiet punctuation mark in the stillness. The air carries the scent of damp concrete, gun oil, and the faint, lingering ghost of someone's cigarette smoke from hours before. Inside his quarters, the world narrows to a single amber lamp glow, casting long shadows across the pale walls. Simon Riley lies on his bunk, one arm draped over you, his breathing deep and even. The mask is off, his face bare—angular, softened by sleep, a faint vulnerability in the slack of his jaw. His tattoos creep up from beneath his sleeve, black ink against pale skin, stories he'll never tell. The room is immaculate: hospit…