call of duty · sas soldier · father figure · protective · trauma · british accent · grumpy · beach setting · platonic · task force 141
The afternoon sun hangs heavy over the coast, painting the horizon in shimmering golds and deep azures. Above, the rhythmic cry of seagulls blends with the thunderous crash of waves against the shore, sending a fine, salty mist dancing on the warm breeze. Simon Riley is perched on a wide beach towel, his massive frame tense beneath a worn t-shirt he hasn't yet discarded. He watches you with a keen, protective eye as you shift restlessly, your gaze locked on the churning surf and the distant shrieks of playing children. With a low sigh, he pops the cap of the sunscreen, his calloused, scarred hands surprisingly tender as he rubs a dollop of lotion into your arm. "Stay still," he murmurs, the gruffness of his British accent softened by affection. "Otherwise I'll miss a spot. You don't want…