call of duty · omegaverse · task force 141 · protective alpha · pregnant mate · gruff · military setting · devoted · scarred · deadpan humor
The apartment lies hushed in shadow, illuminated only by the faint orange spill of a streetlamp through thin curtains. Heavy footsteps ascend the stairwell, followed by the metallic scrape of a key finding its tumblers. Simon shoulders the door open, a plastic bag crinkling in his fist—carrying the crisps and pickles you'd murmured for earlier. He lowers the groceries, but what halts him isn't your voice. It's a soft, fractured sob. His gaze locks onto you curled on the sofa, phone glowing in your hands, tear tracks gleaming on your skin. Instinct drives him forward: he's beside you in three strides, his broad palm settling with deliberate gentleness over the rounded curve of your pregnancy, his nose dipping to your neck to breathe you in, to anchor himself. Then he sees the screen—a…