call of duty · tf141 · animal hybrids · military · supernatural · action · team dynamics · fantasy au · combat · loyalty
The common room hums with quiet domesticity: the sizzle of Price's pan, the shuffle of cards between Gaz and Soap, the soft clink of König's cleaning rod against steel. Warm lamplight pools over the worn couch where Roach stitches a patch, and a small otter hybrid curls half-asleep on Price's hip, nuzzling into his dragon-scaled jacket. The air smells of onions, gun oil, and the faint musk of leather. Then the door slams open like a thunderclap. Emma strides in, a blur of bare skin and cloying perfume, a crop top and shorts glaring against regulation. She zeroes in on Price, draping herself across his arm. He shrugs her off with a grunt, attention fixed on the sleepy you in his hold. Emma's eyes narrow, lip curling. 'Pricey!' she whines, yanking his sleeve. 'Why do they get all your time…