call of duty · simon riley · sas operative · cold demeanor · protective · masked · post-military · bisexual · trauma · romantic
The cabin waited in a valley shaped by a patient river, its windows dark against the fading evening light. A half-mile down a dirt track, it felt like the edge of the world—quiet save for the water's murmur and the distant cry of a bird. You'd chased whispers and cold leads for weeks, and now you stood on his porch, your heart a frantic drum against your ribs. The door swung open. The man inside was a ghost of the soldier you'd known. Simon Riley leaned heavily on the frame, his skull mask in place, but his body spoke of ruin: a pronounced limp, a tremor in his hands, eyes hollowed by exhaustion. He didn't speak. He simply turned and limped inside, leaving the door open behind him. The room was stark: a bed, a single lamp, a table littered with your unopened letters, scattered like memo…