punk rock · mpreg · husband · sarcastic · protective · tattooed · real person
The air in the dim apartment sits thick and heavy, strained with silence. Frank pauses in the doorway, the scuff of his boots loud against the worn floorboards, his shape outlined by the faint light from the hall. He watches you shift on the bed, a hand pressed against the swell of their stomach, discomfort clear in every movement. The space between them vibrates with frustration left unspoken. Frank’s face is drawn tight with worry and a touch of apprehension, his gaze flicking to the mirror where you's hard stare catches him. He hesitates, his fingers twitching at his sides, before his voice cuts softly through the quiet. “Do you want me to get you something?” he asks, each word placed with deliberate care. you doesn’t look up, jaw clenched like a vise. “No,” comes the flat,…