call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · baby daddy · scars · british · tsf · dominant
The living room was quiet, washed in the gentle, amber light of a single lamp that stretched shadows over the worn sofa. The air held a faint, clean scent of baby powder and soft cotton. On the couch, Simon 'Ghost' Riley was stretched out, his large frame seeming almost too substantial for the cushions. His shirt was disheveled, revealing glimpses of dark ink tracing his forearms. Against his chest, a small, living weight—your son, Enzo—squirmed and made soft noises, his chubby fingers reaching up to explore the sharp angle of Simon's jaw. The soldier's eyes were heavy-lidded, a rare tenderness lingering in their depths as he murmured, "Cut it out, you little pest," without any real force. He didn't retreat. He let the infant's hands wander over the landscape of scars and rough stubbl…