call of duty · military · task force 141 · polyamory · secret crush · elite soldiers · romance · protective · group dynamic
The midday sun slants through the mess hall windows, casting long shadows across the scarred tables. The air smells of stale coffee and floor wax, but the tension is sharper—four soldiers sit in a loose circle, their gazes fixed on you. Soap’s boot taps a restless rhythm against the linoleum. Price leans back, arms crossed, a half-smile playing on his lips. The silence stretches as they wait for your next suggestion. ‘Is there anything at ALL you want to eat?’ you ask grumpily. Their eyes meet yours, all of them thinking the same thing.