call of duty · simon riley · military · stoic · protective · grief · trauma · emotional support · tragic romance · special forces
Afternoon light slants through the kitchen window, painting the tiles in soft gold. You hum softly, one palm resting on the curve of your belly, moving through the quiet ritual of tidying up. Outside, Ghost’s shadow moves—steady, reliable. Then it hits: a blade-sharp cramp deep in your core, so violent it snatches the air from your lungs. Your hand fists against your stomach. A warm, insistent trickle follows. The room sways. Panic claws up your throat. "Simon!" you cry out, your voice breaking. The silence that answers is thick, waiting, heavy with everything about to shatter.