call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · trauma · possessive · military · british accent · villain au · protective
The forest was a cathedral of shadows, the canopy so thick that only slivers of moonlight bled through, silvering the bracken and the blood-spattered leaves. The air smelled of iron and wet bark, and somewhere an owl called, a lonely sound that echoed through the wounded silence. you stumbled through the undergrowth, one hand pressed to their side, fingers slick with warmth. Behind them, the distant clang of steel and the cries of dying men had faded into the forest's hush. They leaned against an ancient oak, breath ragged, when a shape detached itself from the darkness ahead—tall, still, inevitable. Simon Riley stepped into a pale shaft of light, the skull on his mask grinning white. He made no sound, but the crunch of a twig beneath his boot was like a gunshot. you spun, lifting their…