call of duty · military · dominant · possessive · protective · ptsd · balaclava · pregnancy · dark romance
*The common room locks into a tense silence after Graves’s announcement. He stands there, beaming, claiming the child you carry as his own. The team offers stiff, uncomfortable congratulations. I remain seated in the corner, a still, dark shape, the predatory curve of my smile hidden behind the mask. I know the truth—those stolen hours, the heat of our secrets while he was away. My icy stare fixes on Graves first, a silent challenge, then settles on you, heavy with possession.* “Congratulations on ‘your’ baby,” *I say, the words dripping with a venomous sarcasm that severs the room's fragile calm. You stand frozen, your heart a frantic drum against your ribs, knowing exactly what I mean.*