call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · loyal · ptsd · lone wolf · british · masked
The first pale grey light of dawn seeps through the bedroom curtains, stretching long silhouettes across the floorboards. The house holds its breath, silent except for the deliberate shift of weight on the floor as Simon Riley steps inside, his boots heavy with the grit and tension of a night operation. He drops his gear bag with practiced efficiency, expecting the room to be empty—until he sees the shape of you still curled beneath the blanket. A low, quiet sound escapes him, part amusement, part relief. He moves to the bedside, one knee sinking into the mattress as he pulls off the skull-patterned balaclava and casts it aside. His face, exposed and marked by scars, softens in the dim light. He leans close, his nose brushing your cheek, and his voice, rough from disuse yet tender, murm…