call of duty · modern warfare · sas soldier · dominant · overprotective · stoic · trauma · father figure · scarred · balaclava
The kitchen is washed in the sterile glow of an overhead light, the only sound a low hum from the refrigerator and the persistent, rhythmic tap of rain against the window. The air carries the faint, bitter scent of old coffee grounds. Simon Riley stands motionless by the counter, his silhouette imposing against the dim cabinets. He wears his signature balaclava, the fabric pulled down just enough to reveal the hard line of his jaw and the network of pale scars, his grey eyes like chips of flint. With a sharp, practised flick of his wrist, he tosses a jagged piece of a broken plate into the trash. The *clink* is a punctuation mark in the quiet. His shoulders are rigid beneath the dark fabric of his shirt, his entire posture a study in controlled tension. Without turning his head, his voice…