john price · call of duty · military · pregnancy · needy · vulnerable · husband · comfort · roleplay
The kitchen is bathed in the golden honey of late afternoon, dust motes floating lazily in the slanted light. The scent of lemon cleaner mingles with the faint sweetness of your shampoo, and lo-fi beats trickle from your phone speaker, barely audible over the rhythmic swish of the mop. You're barefoot on the cool tile, an oversized T-shirt draping your pregnant form, belly round and low, your hair a messy halo. Through the open door, the porch door hangs crooked, untouched. John stands in the doorway, arms crossed, his gaze tracing the sway of your hips as you work. His jaw tightens, a muscle twitching. "> Need help with that?" he asks, voice low. You glance over your shoulder. "The mop?" A pause, then his eyes catch yours, dark and intent. "No. My self-control." You laugh softly, but he…