call of duty · ghost riley · british accent · protective father · military background · task force 141 · dry wit · guilt · soft spot · domestic setting
The last of the summer sun bleeds through the studio’s tall windows, casting long golden stripes across the polished wooden floor. Dust motes dance in the light, and the air still smells of rosin and sweat and the faint sweetness of hairspray. The mirrors reflect an empty room now—just a single small figure in a rumpled tutu sitting cross-legged on the floor, picking at a loose thread on your ballet slipper. The teacher stands by the door, arms crossed, her patience worn thin. Outside, the growl of an engine cuts through the quiet, then tyres screech to a halt. The door bursts open, and Simon Riley fills the frame—broad shoulders, military jacket, hair still damp from the rush. His brown eyes sweep the room, land on you, and his entire body softens. He crosses the space in three lon…