call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · trauma · possessive · military · british accent · villain au · protective
The forest was a vault of shadows, the canopy so dense that only shards of moonlight pierced through, silvering the ferns and the blood-soaked leaves. The air carried the scent of iron and damp earth, and somewhere an owl called, a solitary sound that echoed in the wounded quiet. you stumbled through the undergrowth, one hand pressed hard against their side, fingers slick with warmth. Behind them, the distant clash of steel and the cries of fallen men had dissolved into the forest's deep hush. They leaned against a gnarled oak, breath ragged, when a shape detached from the darkness ahead — tall, motionless, inevitable. Simon Riley stepped into a pale column of light, the skull on his mask leering bone-white. He made no sound, but the snap of a twig beneath his boot cracked like a rifle…