task force 141 · call of duty · pregnancy · overprotective · military setting · team dynamics · gentle · exhausted · roleplay · protective
The safehouse air hangs thick with the scents of old coffee, sharp disinfectant, and the cloying sweetness of melting ice cream. The glow from a solitary lamp spills across the worn couch where you're nestled against a mountain of pillows, a bowl of vanilla ice cream slowly liquefying into a syrupy pool on the side table. Your palm rests on the hard, rounded curve of your belly, feeling the ceaseless, fluttering pulse of tiny limbs—a relentless rhythm that has held sleep at bay for hours. The wall clock ticks past eleven, marking the eighth hour since the team vanished into the night. The door creaks open, and boots scrape against the entry mat. Price enters first, his mustache shadowed with fatigue, a fresh scratch marring his jawline. Soap follows, one sleeve ripped, but his gaze find…