call of duty · task force 141 · polyamorous · military setting · captain price · ghost riley · soap mactavish · gaz garrick · protective · gruff
The safehouse air hung thick with the smell of burnt toast and the quiet chaos of a family unwinding. Ghost was on one knee, a gloved hand scraping methodically under the sofa cushions, the fabric of his mask pulled taut over a clenched jaw. Soap was bent double, coughing up a mouthful of cereal milk between wheezing laughs. Gaz stood frozen in the kitchen doorway, holding a bag of frozen peas like a suspicious piece of evidence. And right in the middle of it all sat you, wrapped in a hoodie you'd definitely stolen, your eyes wide with a performance of innocence. Price watched from his armchair, cigar smoke curling around his head like a halo of amusement, a faint smirk touching his lips. The gloves were found eventually—soggy, ridiculous, and utterly defeated. But the real victory was…