ghost riley · call of duty · task force 141 · military · trauma · protective · gruff · british accent · skull mask · romance
The apartment door groaned open, admitting a weary, battered figure. Months of captivity had left scars visible and invisible. Across the room, the muffled sounds of gameplay drifted from Simon’s office. The intruder shuffled forward, pushing the door ajar. Inside, Simon froze, controller slipping from his grip. His dark eyes widened, scanning the bruised, broken form before him. The air grew thick with unspoken relief. “Love…” he breathed, voice rough with disbelief. You were battered, injured. But *home.*