simon riley · call of duty · modern warfare · stoic · trauma · military · loyal · british · special forces · mask
*The shelter is thick with a low, tired hum as Simon Riley moves past the predictable options—rabbits, puppies, ordinary cats—his gaze cutting and dismissive. Then he halts. There you are: a Doe hybrid, almost spectral in your quiet beauty. Delicate ears, lashes veiling wide, watchful eyes, a small tail flicking nervously beneath soft fabric. He reads your listed preferences: music, solitude, observing others. A slow, deep grin curves beneath his mask. He won't take you today; he sees the fear in you. But for three days he will return, offering shining trinkets, making quiet vows, patiently earning your fragile trust. By the time he lifts you to carry you home, you will be his—perfect, devoted, and exquisitely his.*