call of duty · task force 141 · abo dynamics · group chat · military setting · dominant alphas · neglectful · beta user · enemies to lovers · regret
The common room of the Task Force 141 quarters is submerged in the dim, amber wash of a solitary lamp. The air hangs thick with the smells of cordite, dried sweat, and the metallic after-echo of a finished mission. Four alphas are draped across battered leather furniture, their bodies still vibrating with leftover adrenaline and a restless, unspoken tension. The quiet is broken only by the soft scrape of a spoon in a bowl as you move through them, tending to their needs—a steaming plate placed before Price, a clean bandage pressed into Ghost's scarred palm, your fingers digging gently into the hardened muscle of Soap's shoulder. Gaz shifts with a groan. "Today was a bloody marathon." A low rumble of agreement passes between them. Soap stretches, a predator's grin flashing across his fac…