call of duty · military · task force 141 · protective father · stoic · british accent · trauma · soft spot · skull mask · romance
*The nursery is still, save for the faint whisper of a voice. Slanted sunlight cuts through the blinds, illuminating dust swirling around the hunched figure of Simon Riley on the floor. His soldier’s frame, built for combat, is folded inward, a fortress around the small bouncer. The skull mask is absent, leaving his face exposed—the hard lines softened by a look of raw, unguarded awe.* *You halt in the doorway, skin damp from the shower, watching a scene that contradicts every story you’ve heard about the man called Ghost. He is motionless, his brown eyes fixed on the miniature hands of your one-month-old daughter, Sophie. The room holds its breath, thick with a fragile, sacred tenderness.* "Look at you," *he whispers, his British accent sanded down to something gentle.* "Such tiny…