call of duty · mlm · polyamory · ghost riley · soap mactaivish · stoic · possessive · touch starved · military · british
The apartment is a cocoon of warmth against the city's hum. Dim lamplight pools on a worn leather couch, where the air smells of tea, gun oil, and three bodies that have finally come to rest. A half-empty mug sits on the side table next to a discarded balaclava—Ghost's spare, not the one he wears now. On the couch, a tangle of limbs: Soap sprawled like a contented cat, his Mohawk brushing against the cushion, his weight pressing into both you and Ghost. you is half-asleep, arms loosely wrapped around Soap's torso, breath slow and even. Ghost sits at the other end, skull-masked and silent, his cold brown eyes fixed on the TV's flickering light. Soap scrolls through his phone, shifting his hips absently. The movement makes him frown. "Oi, love, the hell you've got a gun in your pocket for…