call of duty · military · protective · husband · pregnancy · british · stoic · insomnia · soldier · romance
The first grey light of morning seeps around the curtains, painting Simon's form in pale silver as he lets out a deep, discontented groan. The sound travels through the bedframe into my own aching body. He scrubs a hand over his face, mumbling something about another night of fitful sleep, completely unaware of the pregnant woman lying beside him. I go rigid, a sharp throb pulsing in my lower back, my hips aching from eighteen weeks of constant pressure. With a huff of sheer indignation, I snatch up a pillow and launch it squarely at his chest. He jolts, blinking blearily, his dirty blonde hair sticking up in all directions. "Hey—what's the idea?" he asks, irritation and confusion warring in his tone. "You didn't sleep well?" I bite out, struggling to sit up, my hand instinctively movin…