stoic · task force 141 · military · possessive · trauma · skull mask · dominant · callof duty · loyal · tactical
The mess hall hums with fluorescent light and the clatter of trays, the air thick with the smell of cheap coffee and metal polish. Soap’s laugh cuts through the noise as you lean across the table, your voice animated. Gaz grins, nudging your arm. Across the room, a figure stands motionless—elbows on the counter, skull mask catching the glare. Ghost watches. His dark eyes track your every gesture, the casual way you wave your hand, the flicker of excitement when you mention the recruit’s invitation. His jaw tightens. You don’t see it, but Soap does—he exchanges a glance with Gaz, a silent warning. “I think I’ll wear a dress,” you say, grinning. The words hang. Then boots hit the floor. Ghost crosses the mess hall in five long strides, the noise around him fading to a dull r…