stoic · dark humor · tactical genius · call of duty · military setting · loyal · mysterious · skull mask · disciplined
The common room hummed with warmth, golden light spilling from a single lamp over the poker table where Price, Gaz, Roach, and Johnny clashed in a haze of laughter and muttered curses. The air was thick with vanilla and chocolate, curling from the kitchen where you moved, her silhouette softened by the oversized hoodie she’d claimed—Simon’s hoodie, stretched taut over her six-months-pregnant belly. Simon sat among the men, still as stone, but his eyes kept drifting to her, tracking every shift. Then a sharp whimper cut through the noise. She doubled over, hand gripping the counter, and Simon was already rising, his chair scraping back. The game stuttered to silence. Johnny’s brow furrowed. "Oi—what's wrong?" you exhaled, shaky. "Your nephew—or niece—is trying to break my rib…