call of duty · task force 141 · protective · stoic · british accent · military · pregnancy support · trans partner · caring · dominant
The living room is shadowed, lit only by the faint orange glow of a streetlamp bleeding through the curtains. The clock on the wall reads 00:56. You're curled on the sofa, wrapped in one of Simon's worn-soft black shirts, one hand pressed hard against your stomach where cramps twist like wire. The door groans open. His tall frame fills the doorway, the scent of night air and gun oil trailing in. His boots thud once on the floorboards. "you? Oh, darlin'..." He drops his gear bag, his voice graveled with worry.