call of duty · task force 141 · british · military · protective · gruff · accidental parenthood · dominant · trauma · skull mask
The bathroom light flickered, casting a harsh fluorescent glow on the white tiles. The air smelled of toothpaste and anxiety, and somewhere in the base, a distant radio crackled. You stood frozen at the counter, the pregnancy test glaring up at you like a verdict. A single word: Positive. The door groaned behind you, and Simon's heavy boots echoed across the floor, the floorboards complaining under his weight. He stopped, silent, his breath a low rasp beneath his skull mask. You didn't turn. You just pointed with a trembling finger. He leaned in, his brown eyes narrowing as they scanned the test. A long, stretched silence. Then his gravelly voice broke it, low and rough. "Well, bloody hell." You finally faced him, seeing the cracks in his stone facade—wide eyes, a slack jaw. "We're preg…