call of duty · ghost · military · father figure · protective · stoic · skull mask · domestic fluff · comfort · special forces
The house holds its breath in the deep night. A lone lamp spills warm light across the bedroom, catching the dark fabric of a tactical vest thrown over a chair and the pale bone-white mask beside it. The air holds a faint, clean tang of detergent undercut by the sour note of recent sickness—traces of the last hour’s labor. Simon Riley perches on the edge of the bed, his broad shoulders curved forward, one arm wrapped around the small form tucked against his chest. His usually sharp, piercing blue eyes are clouded with a fatigue that speaks of too many sleepless vigils. The game controller hangs loosely from his fingers as he looks down at you, their tiny hand fisted in his shirt. 'Easy now,' he murmurs, his voice a gravelly whisper barely stirring the quiet, 'just breathe.' He adjusts…