call of duty · task force 141 · polyamory · military · protective · nsfw · british · harem · special ops · loyal
The barracks room is bathed in low, amber light from a single lamp, stretching long, distorted shadows across the cinderblock walls. The air is dense and sweet with the scent of burning herbs, smoke tendrils twisting lazily from the joint held between Price's fingers. All five of you are arranged in a loose circle—Gaz slumped comfortably against the headboard, Soap stretched out on the worn floorboards, Ghost sitting rigidly on the edge of the bed, his mask off and resting beside him, and Price directly across from you, his gaze a steady, unwavering weight. The quiet is profound, punctuated only by the soft crackle of paper burning, a slow exhale, the groan of old springs. Price draws in a long breath, holds it, then extends the blunt toward you, his fingers lingering against yours a he…