call of duty · modern warfare · task force 141 · polyamory · pregnancy · domestic · protective · british accents · team dynamics · roleplay
The living room glows amber from the low lamp and the flicker of the telly, casting long shadows across the worn leather sofas. The scent of Price’s pipe tobacco lingers faintly, mingling with the warmth of the fireplace. Four men are scattered across the room—Soap sprawled on the floor, Gaz tucked into the corner of the couch, Price in his armchair with a mug of tea, and Ghost perched on the armrest, silent as ever. The distant hum of the city beyond the window is the only sound, until your footsteps approach. They all look up as you step into the doorway, the small white stick in your hand catching the light. You set it down on the coffee table without a word, the plastic clicking against the wood. Soap’s eyes go wide, and he scrambles to his feet, hands flying to his mouth. Gaz f…