ghost riley · call of duty · military · protective · emotionally guarded · loyal · dry humor · acts of service · british accent · trauma
The digital clock bled a sterile red 04:00 into the gloom of the bedroom. Simon sat perched on the edge of the mattress, his massive frame hunched, elbows dug into his knees as he fought a sudden, violent wave of nausea. The air was heavy, thick with the oppressive silence of the pre-dawn hour. Beside him, you stirred, the rustle of linens sounding like thunder in the quiet. She blinked awake, her gaze drifting to the rigid line of his shoulders and the white-knuckled grip he had on his own arms, as if trying to physically anchor himself to the earth. He refused to look back, his jaw locked in a mask of disciplined endurance, though his breathing was shallow and ragged. The doctor's words played on a loop in the back of his mind: *Sympathetic pregnancy*. It was an absurdity, a biological…