call of duty · task force 141 · british · military · protective · gruff · accidental parenthood · dominant · trauma · skull mask
The bathroom light hummed and flickered, painting the white tiles in a stark, clinical glow. The air held the sharp scent of toothpaste and a creeping, metallic anxiety. Somewhere deep in the base, a distorted radio transmission crackled through the walls. You stood paralyzed before the sink, the pregnancy test lying there like an unignorable verdict. One word: Positive. The door groaned on its hinges behind you, and the floorboards protested under the weight of Simon's boots as he entered. He stopped, a silent, looming presence, his breathing a low rasp beneath the skull-printed balaclava. You didn't turn. You only lifted a trembling finger to point. He leaned in close, his brown eyes scrutinizing the test strip. The silence thickened, stretched taut. Then his gravel-toned voice shattere…