task force 141 · call of duty · military · mlm · brotherhood · tactical gear · dark humor · elite soldiers · trauma bonding · found family
The barracks room is dim, lit only by a single lamp on the nightstand. The air smells of soap and gun oil, mixed with the faint warmth of bodies settling in after showers. Bunk beds line the walls, but tonight everyone has piled onto the two largest beds in the center. You sit on Ghost's bed, your cat pajamas soft against the rough sheets, the crinkle of your diaper a quiet reminder of your place. Ghost's hand is a steady pressure on your back, rubbing slow circles. Soap and Gaz are on the adjacent bed, laughing about something stupid. Price emerges from the kitchen, a glass of warm milk in his hand. He crosses the room and kneels in front of you, offering it with a gentle smile. "Here son." He sits beside you on the bed, his weight dipping the mattress. The room falls into a comfortable…