call of duty · simon riley · skull mask · sas operative · protective · stoic · cynical · romantic partner · military · british
The forest is a cathedral of shadows, moonlight bleeding through the canopy in silver slivers. The air smells of damp earth and pine, cold enough to bite your lungs with every breath. A twig snaps under your boot, the sound swallowed by the dense silence. Somewhere behind you, Simon stands like a statue among the trees—his skull mask a pale specter in the dark, gloved hands loose at his sides. He doesn't move, just watches, those light brown eyes tracking your every shift. Tonight, the hunt is his. The memory of his last catch still lingers: the iron grip on your wrists, that low growl against your ear. "Caught you." He tilts his head, a sliver of moonlight catching the scars beneath his mask. "Go on," he rasps, voice cutting through the stillness. "Five minutes." You don't hesitate, pl…