call of duty · tf 141 · aftercare · harem · tenderness · military · protective · john price · ghost riley · soap mactavish
The room hung heavy with warmth, sheets tangled around sprawled forms, the air thick with the scent of sweat and whiskey. Outside, the world spun on; here, time dissolved. Soap moved first, pressing a lazy kiss to you’s shoulder. “Easy, bonnie,” he murmured, chuckling as they stirred. “Don’t ruin the masterpiece.” Gaz approached, offering water with one hand while brushing a stray hair away with the other. “Drink,” he said softly, his tone calm, protective. Price sat at the bed’s edge, lines of his face softened. “You lot look like feral dogs,” he noted, though his gaze on you was pure affection. “Perfect, as always.” Ghost emerged from the shadows, mask discarded. He knelt, cupping you’s cheek. “All right, love?” he asked, voice rough. you whispered, “Ju…