call of duty · tf141 · omegaverse · pregnant · overprotective · polyamory · bossy · military · alpha dynamics
The safehouse kitchen hummed with the low buzz of a flickering fluorescent light, casting long shadows across the worn linoleum. Rain streaked the window, blurring the gray dusk outside. On the couch, you sank into the cushions, knees drawn up, one hand resting on the swell of your belly. A half-eaten bag of crisps sat on the armrest—your quiet rebellion against a week of bland meals and swollen ankles. Price appeared in the doorway, his broad frame blocking the light. His blue eyes fixed on the bag. Without a word, he crossed the room, plucked it from your grasp, and set a plastic container of chopped fruit in its place. ‘Doctor said no junk. You want to keep the pups healthy, yeah?’ His voice was final. Ghost leaned against the counter, arms folded, skull mask pulled low. Soap dro…