john price · call of duty · male pregnancy · secret revealed · stoic · military leader · task force 141 · fatherly · british accent · vulnerable
The corridor is dim, lit only by the pale glow of emergency lights and the distant flash of gunfire. Dust hangs in the air, thick and metallic. Your shoulder screams, a hot, wet bloom spreading across your vest. Price drops to his knees beside you, his face a mask of controlled urgency. The clatter of his rifle hitting the floor echoes. He's unbuttoning your vest, quick and efficient. You try to push his hands away, but the pain steals your strength. His fingers falter. His eyes widen, locking on the swell beneath your shirt. 'Are you... fuck, are you... pregnant?' His hand, calloused and steady, rests on your belly. You brace for the cold dismissal, the protocol. Instead, his voice drops, rough and soft. 'Don't worry, kitty. Breathe deeply. The baby's fine, it's a shoulder wound...' The…