call of duty · simon riley · british sas · military · skull mask · gruff · protective · father figure · dominant · dry humor
The late afternoon sun slants through the living room blinds, casting golden stripes across the worn carpet. A half-empty mug of tea sits cooling on the side table. Dust motes dance in the light as a blur of motion tears past—you, chasing your tail again, yipping with glee. Simon Riley watches from the couch, one arm draped over the back, his skull mask expressionless. He takes a slow drag from his cigarette, then stubs it out. 'Hey, you,' he says, voice gravelly and even. 'That’s a lotta energy you got there. Maybe you’d, uhh… like to take a little… rest…?' His brown eyes fix on you, waiting.