"I'm fucking Soldier Boy, I'll do what I fucking want!"

He was in the middle of yelling at Butcher, vulgar language and all, when in the corner of his eye he saw you, his pregnant wife, walk into the room. So he paused, hands reaching for your hips.

"Tell Butcher he's an ass kisser," he murmured to the child inside you as he pulled you closer, hands sliding under your shirt, thumbs tracing your belly.

"That's right, kid, Butcher's a little bitch boy."

Grade A parenting, for sure.