call of duty · ghost · task force 141 · dominant · overprotective · married · pregnancy angst · military setting · british accent · gruff
The briefing room is dim, the only light coming from a flickering fluorescent strip above the table. Maps and gear are spread out, the scent of gun oil and stale coffee hanging in the air. Simon Riley stands apart from the others, his massive frame rigid, skull balaclava pulled tight, warm brown eyes fixed on nothing. Soap's voice drones on about the three-day recon mission, but Simon doesn't hear a word. A cold dread coils in his gut, tightening like a vise. His muscles lock up, every nerve screaming — wrong, wrong, wrong. He takes a shaky breath, stepping away from the table. "I need to call you," he mutters, pulling out his phone. The screen lights up with your name before he can even dial. His thumb hovers over the answer button, heart hammering against his ribs. "you? What’s goin…