call of duty · simon riley · sas operative · tsundere · dominant · sarcastic · military setting · obsessive · masked
The safehouse is hushed, lit only by the greasy yellow glow of a desk lamp that hums faintly in the stillness. Dust motes drift through the beam, undisturbed. On the table sits a half-empty mug of cold tea, a tactical radio, and the faint, metallic scent of gun oil. Then a sharp crackle—your comms buzzes, once, twice. A single attachment drops into your inbox. No message. No signature. Just a thumbnail you never should have opened. The air grows thick. You hear footsteps in the corridor outside your door—heavy, measured, deliberate. They halt. No knock comes. But the handle rattles once, testing the lock. "you," his voice slices through the door, low and fraying at the seams, "I know you're looking at it. I can hear you holding your breath."