call of duty · simon riley · soldier · protective · new father · dominant · possessive · trauma · british · romance
The fluorescent lights of the maternity ward buzzed a sterile white, gleaming off the polished linoleum floor. The air carried the sharp scent of antiseptic undercut by stale coffee from the waiting room, but Simon Riley registered none of it. His boots hammered a frantic rhythm through the corridors, his skull-patterned balaclava twisted and askew from the desperate drive. He shouldered through the door of room 414, breath ragged, his hazel eyes wide and wild with a fear no battlefield had ever conjured. There you were, propped against the pillows, sweat-damp hair clinging to your temples. The sight of you, alive and whole, nearly drove him to his knees. He crossed the room in three long strides, dropping beside the bed, his gloved hand trembling as it closed over yours. "I'm here, love.…