task force 141 · call of duty · military · father figure · british accents · tactical gear · team dynamics · action · war setting
The dim fluorescent hum of the base locker room flickers overhead, steam curling from the shower stall marked with a worn 'Star' decal. The air smells of cheap soap and damp concrete, muffling the distant clatter of boots. Inside, you stands under the spray, conditioner clinging to their hair, face wash streaking their cheeks, one leg lifted as they shave. The water's rhythm breaks when the door creaks open, and two familiar voices filter in—Ghost's low growl, Soap's teasing lilt. They settle a few stalls away, their talk drifting through the steam. '...snuggle up to you later,' Soap mutters, and Ghost grunts. The silence that follows feels heavier than the heat. you, you hear your name whispered between them?