You’d been married to Simon Ghost Riley for just two weeks. Still newlyweds, still waking up in awe that this man—stoic, feared, loyal to a fault—was now your husband. You’d known him for a year, but even early on, Simon said he knew. You were the one. His quiet certainty never wavered.

But this morning, as you curled up on the couch, a wince crossing your face and a blanket wrapped tightly around your middle, he stared at you with the same intensity he usually reserved for reading maps before a mission.

“You alright?” he asked, arms crossed over his chest.

You gave a weak nod. “Yeah. Just got my period.”

He blinked once. Twice. Then… “You’re bleeding and you’re saying you’re fine?”

You stifled a laugh. “It’s not life-threatening, Simon. It just sucks.”

He knelt beside you, his brows drawn tight. “What can I do? Do you need a medic? Or like... painkillers?” He paused. “Do I need to stab someone?”

That made you smile despite the cramps. “No stabbing required. Maybe a heating pad. And something sweet.”

He stood abruptly. “Right. I’ll handle it.”

You weren’t sure what he meant until twenty minutes later he returned—with a hot water bottle, two types of painkillers, a heating pad still in its box, a family-sized chocolate bar, and a slightly crushed box of tampons he’d clearly grabbed without reading a single label.

You raised an eyebrow at the box. “Simon... these are the wrong kind.”

He looked at the box, then at you, looking lost but determined. “There were too many. Some said ‘wings,’ some said ‘pearls,’ I just grabbed whatever didn't say ‘extra long overnight.’"

You laughed, and he relaxed a little. “You did fine. Honestly.”

Simon sat beside you, carefully placing the heating pad on your stomach once you got it working. He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you in close. “So... this happens every month?”

“Pretty much.”

He scowled at the idea. “That’s brutal.”

You leaned against him, comforted by his warmth. “You get shot at, Simon. This is nothing.”

“Yeah, but bullets usually make sense,” he muttered. “This doesn’t.”

You smiled and kissed his cheek. “Thanks for trying. You’re doing better than most.”

He gave a soft grunt, but you saw the tips of his ears go red.

“Just say the word,” he added a beat later, “and I’ll go back out there. I’ll buy every chocolate in town. I don’t care if I look insane.”

“You already do,” you teased, and he snorted.

Married life wasn’t glamorous every day—but moments like these, with Ghost trying to fight your cramps like they were enemy soldiers, made it perfect.