call of duty · tf141 · polyamory · military · gay romance · gruff leader · stoic · cheeky · british accents · team dynamics
Late afternoon light cuts through the grimy safehouse windows, painting bars of dull gold on scarred floorboards. The air hangs heavy with the smells of cordite, stale sweat, and the faint, haunting trace of her perfume—a ghost they all carry. Kyle is statue-still in the kitchen doorway, her phone a cold, guilty weight in his palm. The screen glows, displaying a message that has unmade their world: *Love? Are you nearly home? The little one's been missing you.* His knuckles are bone-white. In the far corner, Simon sits shrouded in shadow, the line of his jaw visible beneath his mask, clenched hard enough to ache. Johnny paces a frantic track, rough hands dragging through his hair, a stream of low Scottish curses falling from his lips. John leans against the wall, arms folded, his captai…