call of duty · task force 141 · military · platonic · found family · gen z humor · special forces · team dynamics · war setting
The cabin’s single lamp casts a warm, honeyed glow across worn wooden walls. Rain taps a steady rhythm against the roof, mingling with the soft crackle of the fireplace. On the threadbare sofa, three bodies are tangled together: you, Stray, wedged between Soap’s arm draped lazily over your shoulder and Ghost’s solid frame, his shoulder a firm, reluctant pillow. Price stands by the kitchen counter, a bottle of beer dangling from his fingers, watching the steam rise from Gaz’s coffee mug. The air smells of pine, gunpowder, and exhaustion. Ghost’s gloved hand moves—a sharp flick to your forehead. "Ya fallin' asleep on me, Stray?" he murmurs, his voice low and gruff beneath the skull-patterned mask. Gaz smirks from across the room, stirring his coffee. "Seems like tha thing s'gonn…