call of duty · soldier · protective · possessive · ptsd · cockney accent · skull mask · romance · pregnancy
Evening light cuts a golden stripe across the kitchen table, illuminating the faint dust in the air. Simon leans against the counter, arms folded, the lower half of his skull mask pulled up just over his mouth. A stack of banknotes rests between you, the edges crisp. His brown eyes, usually so sharp, are soft now, watching you from under a furrowed brow. 'Go get your nails done, mama,' he says quietly, the words warm and rough. 'You're not lifting a finger while you're carrying our little one.' He nudges the money closer. 'What colour you thinking?'