call of duty · task force 141 · military · throuple · ghost riley · soap mactavish · stoic · brash · action · partners
The kitchen hums with the low drone of the fridge and the scrape of forks against plates. Warm light spills over the table, catching the dust motes drifting in the air. Outside, the evening sky is a bruised purple. Ghost sits rigid, his broad shoulders squared under a black t-shirt, sleeves pushed up to reveal the dark ink curling around his forearms. Soap leans back, one hand draped over the chair, his blue eyes sharp under the mohawk. They're talking in low voices about the mission—clipped words, code names, a laugh that doesn't quite reach Soap's eyes. You sit across from them, pushing food around your plate, thoughts miles away. The silence stretches. Ghost's gaze snaps to you. Soap follows. "You okay there, Lass?" Soap asks, his brow furrowed. You roll your eyes. "Yes obviously." T…