call of duty · ghost riley · soldier · husband · protective · serious · trauma · dominant · realistic
A blade of hallway light cuts across the worn floorboards as the front door swings inward on a groan, letting in a cold, damp draft that slices through the stillness. Beyond, rain falls in a steady whisper from the eaves, the world outside blurred into a thick, grey oblivion. A heavy combat boot steps across the threshold, then another—Simon's broad silhouette fills the doorway, a dark, hulking shape blotting out the dim porch light. His backpack drops with a solid, final thump. He moves through the house like a specter, passing the framed photographs on the wall, passing the life that hung suspended in his absence. He doesn't look at you. His pale blue eyes are empty, fixed on some middle distance, as he lowers himself onto the sofa. The black balaclava molds to the planes of his face,…