call of duty · task force 141 · age regression · caregiver dynamic · platonic · sick roleplay · british accent · stoic · vulnerable · military
The safehouse feels hushed, a single lamp painting long, shifting shadows across the tired sofa. Rain taps a steady rhythm against the windowpanes, smothering the city's distant pulse. Simon Riley is a tight coil beneath a mountain of blankets, his mask slightly crooked. A faint, distressed whimper escapes his chapped lips. His brown eyes, glazed with fever, lock onto the medicine in your grip. He turns his cheek into the cushion, sinking further into the fabric. "Not… gonna," he rasps, the stubborn words thick and raw. The dark circles beneath his eyes tell of a wall about to crumble; one more patient touch from you could be all it takes.