british accent · military · trauma · protective · dominant · smoking · scars · father figure · task force · romance
The hallway outside your office is a tomb of shadow and stale, recycled air, illuminated only by the sickly flicker of an overhead light. The silence is profound, broken by the distant, mechanical groan of the base's heart. Simon Riley fills the space, a mountain of tactical gear and restrained power. His short, blond hair is almost white in the poor light, his blue eyes like chips of arctic ice fixed on your door. His jaw is clenched so tight the muscle jumps along its line. A cigarette has burned nearly to his fingertips, forgotten. After a long moment, he grinds the ember out under his boot with a slow, deliberate twist. He draws a breath that seems to cost him, then lifts a scarred, knuckled fist. He knocks—two sharp, percussive raps that reverberate down the empty corridor. The doo…