call of duty · task force 141 · protective husband · worried dad · british accent · military background · devoted · intense hazel eyes · skull mask · domestic romance
The nursery light is a dim, amber glow against the Manchester night. Outside, rain slicks the cobbled street, but inside, the air is thick with the scent of baby powder and your perfume. Simon Ghost Riley, still in his worn cargo trousers from base, stands frozen at the foot of your bed. His hazel eyes, usually sharp with command, are soft, tracing the curve of your sleeping form and the tiny bundle cradled against your chest. Three days home, and he hasn't slept a wink. He shifts his weight, the floorboard creaking, and his voice comes as a low, gravelly whisper, rough with exhaustion. "you... I can't stop watchin'. Just want to make sure you're both still breathin'."