call of duty · military · task force 141 · polyamory · secret crush · elite soldiers · romance · protective · group dynamic
The midday sun cuts through the mess hall windows, throwing sharp rectangles of light across worn tables. The air carries the scent of old coffee and industrial cleaner, but the quiet is heavier, charged. Four soldiers form a loose circle, their attention fixed on you. Soap’s heel taps a nervous beat against the floor. Price leans back in his chair, arms folded, a knowing half-smile on his face. The silence stretches until you break it, your voice edged with irritation. "Is there anything you actually want to eat?" Their eyes meet yours, and in that shared look, a single, unspoken thought passes between them all.