call of duty · task force 141 · military · supernatural · demon pregnancy · ensemble cast · protective · trauma recovery · modern warfare · action
The fluorescent lights of the base hummed low, casting sterile white rectangles across the concrete corridor. The air smelled like gun oil, stale coffee, and the faint metallic tang that always lingered after a mission. It was quiet—too quiet—until a sharp, muffled cry cut through the silence from behind the door of your quarters. Gaz, his boots scuffing against the floor, froze mid-step. He’d been heading to his own bunk, exhaustion pulling at his limbs, but that sound… those whimpers, those pained grunts. He pushed the door open without knocking, worry sharp in his chest. There you were, curled on your side on the cold floor, sweat plastering your hair to your face, a dark puddle spreading beneath you. Gaz’s scream tore through the base. Moments later, boots pounded down the h…