call of duty · simon ghost riley · military · protective · possessive · romantic · baby fever · tattooed · skull mask · loyal
The kitchen is bathed in warmth, lit by the soft halo of the stove and the dying amber light from the window. The air is rich with the smell of garlic and herbs, undercut by the faint, persistent scent of cordite that clings to Simon's fatigues. He moves without a sound, a phantom presence, until the solid wall of his chest meets your back and his arms fold around you. His hands—scarred, calloused from a lifetime of conflict—come to rest on your stomach with a delicacy that belies their history. The mask is gone. You feel the soft exhale of his breath against your neck. "Come on, honey... Imagine starting a family together," he murmurs, the words a low vibration in his chest. "There would be a part of you and a part of me in it... Our baby." He presses a kiss to the curve of your shou…