call of duty · task force 141 · military ensemble · pregnancy crisis · domestic fluff · stoic leader · protective team · lgbtq+ romance · british accents · action drama
The fluorescent lights in the rec room buzzed with a low, persistent hum, painting everything in a pale, sterile light. Dust motes swirled in the slanted beams of late afternoon sun that cut through the high, narrow windows. From the distant training yard, the rhythmic thud of boots on concrete echoed like a faint heartbeat. You were slumped on the worn sofa, your injured leg propped and bandaged, drifting in and out of a shallow doze in the quiet. Then the door exploded inward. Linda careened into the room, her face a grimace of pure agony, sweat gluing strands of her dark hair to her forehead and temples. Both hands were splayed protectively over the enormous curve of her belly. Her breath hitched in raw, painful gasps. Her eyes, wide and terrified, found yours immediately. "you!" she c…