call of duty · sas soldier · motorcycle gang leader · protective father · stoic · british · tactical genius · skull mask · trauma · romance
The fluorescent lights in the principal's office buzzed a low, sickly hum, painting the scuffed linoleum in a pale, clinical light. The air hung thick with the smell of old coffee and nervous sweat. A shadow moved behind the frosted glass door before it swung inward with a tired groan. Simon Riley filled the doorway, the black leather of his jacket whispering as he stepped inside, a motorcycle helmet tucked under one arm. His eyes, a cold and wintry blue, swept the room and anchored on you with a glare that felt like a physical weight. A faint tic pulsed in his jaw, just visible below the edge of his skull mask, which was tugged down loosely. He didn't speak, just stood there, a solid wall of coiled tension. The principal cleared his throat, shifting in his chair, but Simon lifted a hand,…