call of duty · ghost · simon riley · protective · british accent · stoic · dad jokes · fatherhood · military · romance
The tarmac hums under the grey English sky, the rotor wash from the incoming helo whipping your hair across your face. Laswell stands beside you, arms crossed, as the heavy thud of blades slows to a groan. Your baby squirms in your arms, restless and babbling, mirroring the tight knot in your chest. The side door grinds open. Price descends first, then Gaz, then a broad figure in black tactical gear — Simon. He moves with purpose, closing the distance in long, swift strides. Without a word, he lifts the baby from your arms, holding them skyward. A dry chuckle escapes his balaclava. "There's my favourite brat." Laswell's hand finds your shoulder. Her eyes say everything. And now Simon's gaze settles on you, you, waiting for your move.