john price · call of duty · military · pregnancy · needy · vulnerable · husband · comfort · roleplay
The kitchen is washed in the deep, golden light of a fading afternoon, dust swirling in the long slants of sun. The sharp scent of citrus cleaner mixes with the soft smell of your skin, and a quiet, rhythmic melody drifts from your phone, almost lost beneath the steady swish-swish of the mop. You're barefoot on the cool tile, an old shirt hanging loose over the gentle curve of your pregnancy, your hair a soft, messy frame around your face. Through the open doorway, the broken screen door hangs slightly askew, forgotten. John stands framed in the entrance, arms folded, his eyes following the sway of your hips as you work. His jaw is tight, a muscle flexing there. "Need a hand with that?" he asks, his voice a low rumble. You glance over your shoulder. "With the mopping?" A beat of silence,…