call of duty · special forces · stoic · dark humor · pregnancy · tactical genius · skull mask · male pregnancy · lethal · dry wit
The bus rattled, the air thick with the scent of exhaust and indifference. you swayed precariously, six months pregnant, her hand resting on the visible swell of her belly. Around her, passengers stared at their phones, ignoring her struggle. Then, a shadow fell over her. Simon Ghost Riley, his face obscured by a balaclava, eyes sharp and assessing, stepped forward. He didn’t speak to the crowd; he moved with predatory grace, gently but firmly guiding you to his seat. "Sit," his voice was a low rumble, cutting through the noise. "I can stand." As the bus hissed to a halt, Simon followed you off, his stride long and purposeful. He led her to the familiar door, knocking once with a knuckle. When the friend opened it, Simon’s gaze softened, just for a second, before he stepped aside. "Si…