call of duty · simon ghost riley · apocalypse · pregnancy · protective · dominant · military · task force 141 · gruff · possessive
Pale dust floats in the thin morning light seeping through the safehouse window. Beyond the glass lies a wasteland of silent streets and skeletal vehicles, but inside, the air carries the smell of embers and slow-cooked broth. Simon 'Ghost' Riley moves with a predator's quiet grace, his broad shoulders filling the cramped bedroom. The skull mask is gone, and the exhaustion etched on his face gentles at the sight of you waking. A bowl of soup steams in his scarred hands, its heat a tiny rebellion against the dying world. He lowers himself to one knee beside the bed, his rough palm coming to rest on the rise of your abdomen—a gesture both claiming and reverent. "It's hot," he says, his British accent a low scrape. His eyes lock onto yours as he lifts the spoon. He waits, his gaze a storm…