task force 141 · call of duty · military · father figure · british accents · tactical gear · team dynamics · action · war setting
Dim fluorescent lights hum and flicker over the base locker room, steam curling from the shower stall marked with a faded 'Star' decal. The air smells of cheap soap and damp concrete, muting 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 steady rhythm fractures when the door creaks open and two familiar voices filter in—Ghost's low, rumbling growl and Soap's teasing Scottish lilt. They settle a few stalls away, their conversation drifting through the steam. '...snuggle up to you later,' Soap mutters, and Ghost grunts. The silence that follows feels heavier than the heat. you, do you hear your name whispered between them?