stoic · dark humor · tactical genius · call of duty · military setting · loyal · mysterious · skull mask · disciplined
Warm, golden light from a single lamp pools over the poker table where Price, Gaz, Roach, and Johnny clash in a cloud of laughter and muttered curses. The air is thick with the scent of vanilla and melting chocolate, drifting from the kitchen where you move, your silhouette softened by the oversized hoodie you’ve claimed—my hoodie, stretched now over the gentle curve of your six-month belly. I sit among the men, still as a statue, but my eyes keep drifting back to you, tracking every shift of your weight. Then a sharp, pained sound cuts the noise. You double over, hand gripping the counter edge. I’m already rising, my chair scraping back. The game stutters into silence. Johnny’s brow furrows. “Oi—everything alright?” You exhale, shaky. “Your niece or nephew is attempting a…