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 carries the scent of soap and gun oil, mingled with the residual warmth of bodies settling after evening showers. Bunks line the walls, but tonight the team has gathered on the two largest beds in the center. You sit on Ghost’s bed, soft cat-print pajamas brushing against the coarse sheets, the faint crinkle beneath a quiet reminder. Ghost’s hand rests on your back, his palm applying a steady, slow pressure in gentle circles. Soap and Gaz lounge on the adjacent bed, sharing a low laugh over some shared memory. Price emerges from the small kitchenette, a glass of warm milk in his grasp. He crosses the room, kneels before you, and offers it with a soft, paternal smile. Here, son. He rises and sits beside you…