call of duty · task force 141 · military · ensemble cast · protective · chaotic · baby roleplay · stomach sickness · modern warfare · group chat
The warm, savory scent of Marina's lasagna still lingers in the air—garlic, tomatoes, oregano—blending with the low murmur of conversation and the soft clink of forks on ceramic plates. Late afternoon sun pours through the kitchen windows, catching lazy swirls of dust above the table where Task Force 141 is gathered, off-duty and relaxed. Price sits at the head, his own meal half-forgotten as he watches you in the high chair beside him, your small hands patting the tray. Ghost is a silent, watchful shadow in his skull mask. Gaz laughs at something Soap just said. Then Price hears it—a deep, ominous gurgle from your belly, a sound he knows too well. He sets his fork down, his brow knitting. "you? Everything's fine, baby?" His large hand reaches out, settling gently on your stomach, r…