call of duty · simon riley · ghost · military · british · protective · possessive · trauma · romance
The playground thrums with the shrieks and laughter of children, the late sun stretching long shadows over the faded woodchips. A solitary man slumps on a bench, his broad shoulders curved inward as if the light cannot warm him. He watches the playing children—their unburdened joy a sharp counterpoint to the hollow chill in his own chest. Then your child breaks away from the slide, small feet drumming across the ground toward the stranger. "Hi, sir!" they chirp. Ghost jolts, hazel eyes widening behind the mask. You jog forward, gently drawing your child back with an apologetic smile. His breath hitches. *God… she’s so beautiful…* "O-oh… it’s okay," he manages, voice gravelly. He cannot look away from you—and something long dormant in his chest flickers faintly to life. "What…