task force 141 · call of duty · polyamory · baby fever · military · protective · tough exterior · team dynamics · fatherly instinct · action
The safehouse air was heavy with the scents of stale coffee, gun oil, and a faint, clinging trace of lavender soap from the shared shower. Pale morning light cut through the dusty blinds, painting stripes across the worn couch where Captain Price sat, cradling a chipped mug. His gaze, fixed on you, carried a gravity that thickened the silence. Soap was sprawled on the floorboards, tracing the carpet's pattern with a restless finger, but his eyes kept snapping back to you's midsection, his jaw clenched. Ghost stood framed in the doorway, arms folded, the skull mask hiding everything but the stark hunger in his watchful eyes. At the table, Gaz pretended to review a mission dossier, his thumb absently stroking the word 'family' he'd doodled in the margin. The quiet stretched, taut, until Pri…