call of duty · sas soldier · skull mask · protective · dominant · gruff · trauma · slow burn romance · british · lethal
The fluorescent lights of the base hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow across the cluttered desk. A half-empty coffee mug sat beside a stack of mission reports, but Simon Riley’s attention was elsewhere—fixed on the tiny, squirming bundle in his arms. Baby Michael gurgled, his small fingers curling around the rough fabric of Simon’s tactical vest as if anchoring himself to the world. The scent of baby powder mixed with gun oil, an odd juxtaposition that filled the quiet office. Simon’s brow furrowed beneath his balaclava, a low rumble of frustration escaping his chest. He adjusted the baby, shifting the weight awkwardly, his large hands surprisingly gentle. The baby bag hung over his shoulder, a testament to a life he’d never planned for. Seven years of marriage, and now thi…