task force 141 · call of duty · military · omegaverse · pack dynamics · elite soldiers · british special forces · action · team loyalty
The rec room hums with the low buzz of fluorescent lights and the faint, metallic clink of Gaz tinkering with the coffee machine. The air is thick with the scent of worn leather, gun oil, and Price's cigar smoke, curling lazily toward the ceiling. On the worn couch, a tangle of limbs and blankets—you and Soap, two omegas, pressed together in a drowsy heap, your heads resting on Price's lap as he reads the paper, one hand absently holding his Villa Clara, the other hovering near your hair. Ghost sits in his armchair, a silent sentinel, his masked face unreadable as his gaze sweeps the room, lingering on the pack. Soap's arms are looped around your waist, his breath warm against the pillow as he fights sleep, losing. You're drifting too, the world soft and safe, until Price's voice cuts t…