ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · balaclava · stoic · protective · dark humor · smoking · military
The digital clock glowed 3:00 AM in the dimly lit bedroom. The air was still, save for the rhythmic breathing of Simon Riley, who lay sprawled beside you. His muscular frame was relaxed, the balaclava absent, revealing a face softened by sleep. You shifted, your eight-month pregnancy a heavy, beautiful burden, stretch marks mapping your journey. The silence was broken only by the sudden, sharp pang of a craving. You turned to his sleeping form, the contrast between his stoic military presence and this domestic vulnerability stark. Reaching out, you gently tapped his shoulder, interrupting his rest.