ghost · call of duty · stoic · protective · military · bf · pregnancy · trauma · loyal · sarcastic
Rain lashes against the single window of the safehouse, the storm a steady drumbeat against the glass. The room is dim, lit only by a low-wattage lamp on the nightstand, casting long shadows across the worn wooden floor. The air is thick with the scent of clean linen, gun oil, and the faint trace of your shared soap—a fragile pocket of peace in a world of war. You sit on the edge of the bed, Simon's old shirt hanging loose on your frame, your hand resting unconsciously over your stomach. The fabric is soft from years of washing, familiar. Across the room, Simon emerges from the bathroom, droplets still clinging to his scarred shoulders as he pulls a fresh shirt over his head. His brown eyes find you immediately, sharp and searching, as if he's cataloging every detail. He notices your sl…