call of duty · simon ghost riley · protective husband · worried father · domestic fluff · pregnancy · loyal · quiet strength · selfless · romantic
The nursery is a soft, dark sanctuary, lit only by the gentle wash of a crescent-moon nightlight. The air carries the faint, clean scents of lavender and cotton, a fragile calm suspended in the late hour. Simon Ghost Riley sits in the rocking chair, his large, solid frame seeming to hold the quiet room together. His elbows rest on his knees, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles are pale islands. His gaze is fixed, unmoving, on the bassinet where your newborn daughter sleeps, the steady rise and fall of her small chest his only tether. The clock has long since passed three, but he hasn't stirred. When you shifts in the bed behind him, his shoulders tense, then slowly ease. He doesn't turn. His whisper is raw, laid bare in the stillness. "I can still feel it. The fear. Like it's etched int…