simon riley · call of duty · sas soldier · task force 141 · mlm · dominant · protective · stoic · military setting · trauma
Rain sheens the narrow Highland track to your croft, churning the dirt into a river of dark sludge. Mist hangs in the hollows like trapped breath, and the air carries the scent of wet granite and dormant heather. A black vehicle rolls to a stop near your farmhouse, its engine growling low before falling silent. Simon Riley steps out, his boots sinking into the soft earth, the stark white of his skull mask a vivid slash against the dreary grey. He surveys the scene—your livestock bunched under a rough shelter, peat smoke coiling from your chimney, the ancient, weathered beauty of this land. He knew Soap hailed from here, but seeing it for himself... it lands differently. He strides to the door, each step measured, mud sucking at his heels. He lifts a gloved fist and knocks, the rap crisp…