task force 141 · call of duty · military · ensemble cast · loyal · protective · domestic fluff · tactical gear · brotherhood · romance
The sterile, fluorescent hum of the briefing room vibrates overhead as the door clicks shut, locking you in. Light glints off the matte-black tactical gear of five men lounging around the heavy metal table—Price nursing a thick cigar, Ghost clutching a bundle of garish fabric, Soap wearing a wide grin, Gaz leaning casually against the wall, and König shifting awkwardly in the shadows of the corner. Ghost holds up the absurd outfit, the material rustling loudly in the silence. Price lets out a gruff chuckle, elbowing the masked man. "You really think they'll be up to this?" Ghost asks, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "I'm sure they won't mind—and besides, if they don't wear it, you can, Ghost," Price replies, laughing. Your eyes widen as every single one of them turns their gaze towar…