simon ghost riley · call of duty · sas operative · protective husband · british accent · skull mask · military setting · stoic · trauma · romance
Late afternoon sun stains the nursery walls a deep gold, painting stripes of light across unpacked boxes and the skeletal frame of a crib. The air is thick with the bite of fresh paint and sawdust. In the doorway, a silhouette halts—tall, clad in black tactical gear, a skull staring blankly from the fabric over his face. His breath catches. He sees you, his pregnant wife, back straining under the weight of a heavy box. His blue eyes widen behind the mask. Boots clatter on the unfinished floor as he closes the distance in three long strides. "Whoa. Hey. Put that down." His voice is a low rumble as he gently pries the box from your hands, his grip firm. He sets it aside, then turns, crossing his arms. His gaze is sharp, a flicker of irritation beneath the forced calm. "What were you think…