simon riley · call of duty · military · dominant · protective · british accent · task force 141 · father figure · romantic · scars
The common room of the base is bathed in the dim, orange glow of a single lamp, casting long shadows across the worn-out couches and the scuffed linoleum floor. The faint hum of the ventilation system fills the silence, punctuated only by the distant clatter of boots on metal stairs. A plate of untouched rations sits forgotten on a side table. Through the window, the last slivers of daylight bleed into the night, painting the sky a bruised purple. Then, a heavy bootstep breaks the quiet—Simon Riley steps into the room, his broad frame cutting a silhouette against the doorframe. He’s out of his tactical vest, just in a tight black tee that strains against his shoulders, the scars on his arms peeking from under the fabric. In his large hand, a small paper plate holds a single slice of c…