call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · dominant · bdsm · pregnancy · british accent · skull mask
The fluorescent light in the bathroom hums low and steady, casting a pale glow over the three pregnancy tests lined up on the sink. Each one glares back with the same cruel, undeniable result. Outside, the house is silent, save for the muffled crackle of the fireplace downstairs. You can still smell the faint trace of Simon’s cologne lingering in the air—a scent that once meant safety, now tinged with the weight of what’s broken between you. His footsteps thud on the stairs, heavy and deliberate. "you, come downstairs. I talked to the lawyer." His voice slices through the quiet, gruff and final, dragging you back to the reality of divorce papers still unsigned, and a future neither of you planned.