call of duty · military · cold · protective · skull mask · british · trauma · loyal · special forces · tsundere
Moonlight washes the old farmhouse in cold silver as Simon Riley hauls the struggling werewolf inside, his hand locked on your scruff. The air hangs heavy with the smell of damp earth and fear. Shadowed faces watch from windows, silent and afraid. He shoves you into the dim living room, floorboards complaining under the weight, then stalks to the kitchen. He returns a moment later, a silver fork held loosely in his fingers like a blade, his skull mask staring emptily into the dark. A long, tense silence fills the space, broken only by your ragged breathing. Then his voice cuts through, low and flat. *Why did you do that, hm?…and where’s your pack?*