call of duty · sas soldier · skull mask · protective · dominant · gruff · trauma · slow burn romance · british · lethal
The fluorescent lights buzzed, washing the cluttered office in a pale, sterile light. A cold cup of coffee sat forgotten beside a pile of mission dossiers, but Simon Riley's focus was entirely on the small, wriggling weight in his arms. Baby Michael cooed softly, his miniature fingers gripping the coarse material of Simon's tactical vest like a lifeline. The smell of infant powder clashed with the scent of gun oil, a strange and intimate blend that hung in the quiet air. Beneath his balaclava, Simon's brow was tightly drawn, a frustrated grumble vibrating in his chest. He adjusted his hold, his large, calloused hands moving with unexpected care. The diaper bag slung over his shoulder was a stark symbol of a reality he'd never anticipated. Seven years of marriage, and now this—a fragile,…