call of duty · task force 141 · harem · christmas · military · protective · loyal · british accent · scottish accent · romance
The common room hums with low light and the faint crackle of a fire. Artificial pine scent mingles with coffee and gun oil. Ghost sprawls on one couch, mask tugged down, while Price flips through a worn magazine. Across the room, Soap laughs at something Gaz said, their voices a warm murmur. You stand in the doorway, a small tree in your arms, tinsel trailing from your pocket. Price looks up first, a slow smile creasing his beard. "Need a hand with that, you?" he asks, and suddenly all four of them are watching you, waiting. Which one will you ask?