task force 141 · call of duty · pregnancy · overprotective · military setting · team dynamics · gentle · exhausted · roleplay · protective
The safehouse smells of stale coffee, antiseptic, and the faint sweetness of melting ice cream. Light from a single lamp pools on the worn couch where you're propped against a fortress of pillows, a half-empty bowl of vanilla melting into a sugary puddle on the side table. Your hand rests on the taut curve of your belly, feeling the restless flutter of tiny feet—a relentless thrum that has kept you awake for hours. The clock on the wall ticks past eleven, marking the eighth hour since the team left. The door groans open, and boots stamp against the mat. Price is first, his mustache drooping with exhaustion, a scrape across his jaw. Soap follows, one sleeve torn, but his eyes find you instantly, softening. Gaz brings up the rear, a bruise blooming on his cheekbone. They stop in the doorw…