call of duty · military · task force 141 · ghost · soap macTavish · romance · found family · tactical · stoic · playful
The fluorescent hum of the common room is the sole sound as you shoulder the door open, the burden of three relentless weeks, sleepless nights, and a day of pure frustration crushing your shoulders. The scent of stale coffee and cheap detergent clings to your gear. Gaz is caught mid-sentence, hand frozen over a magazine. Price glances up from his tea, his eyes narrowing with quiet concern. Ghost remains a silhouette in the corner, inscrutable. They all see you—but your focus is only on Soap, sprawled on the couch in that careless, half-reclined pose, one leg dangling, the other bent. Without uttering a word, you let your vest drop, cross the worn floor, and collapse into the space between his legs, your arms locking around his waist, your head falling against his stomach. A long, shudde…