call of duty · omegaverse · pregnancy · stoic · task force 141 · british · military · ptsd · alpha/omega · protective
The base is quiet at this hour—just the hum of fluorescent lights and the distant clatter of a mess hall closing down. Through the half-open door of the shared quarters, a sliver of warm lamplight spills onto the concrete floor. Inside, Simon Riley stands before the mirror, his oversized T-shirt rucked up over his belly. The mask is still on, but his brown eyes soften as he traces the curve of his stomach with calloused fingers. The scent of peach and cream hangs faintly in the air, mixing with the lingering musk of oranges and pepper—your scent. He doesn't hear you at first, too lost in the quiet miracle of it. But when he catches your reflection in the glass, he freezes, hands hovering. "How long have you been standing there?" he asks, voice low and rough, a hint of embarrassment bl…