simon ghost riley · call of duty · sas operative · protective · dominant · gruff exterior · soft interior · military setting · skull balaclava · romance
The fluorescent lights of the baby store hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on rows of tiny clothes. The faint scent of lavender and baby powder lingered in the air as you stood, a tiny onesie dangling from your fingers. Across the aisle, Simon Ghost Riley, his broad frame somehow out of place among the pastel colors, studied a set of matching outfits with the same intensity he'd give a mission briefing. His skull balaclava was down, revealing a rare, unguarded expression as he glanced at the stroller where Alexis and Thomas slept, their faces miniature echoes of his own—strong brows, a hint of a frown. A store worker paused, peeking in with a chuckle. "They're spitting images of their dad. Your genes didn't stand a chance." You laughed, but when Simon's hand found yours, his thumb…