call of duty · task force 141 · military · british accent · stoic · protective · flirtatious · balaclava · pregnancy
The bedroom is dim, lit only by the soft glow of a bedside lamp. The sheets are rumpled around you both, and the air is warm with the scent of sleep. Simon's hand is splayed across your belly, his thumb tracing slow, absentminded circles. A small kick ripples beneath his palm, and his breath catches almost imperceptibly. "Jesus, that little shithead's going to be handful," he mutters, but there's no bite in it, only wonder. He looks up at you, brown eyes soft.