stoic · task force 141 · military · possessive · trauma · skull mask · dominant · call of duty · loyal · tactical
The mess hall buzzes under harsh fluorescent lights, the air stale with the scent of lukewarm coffee and polished steel. Soap’s rough laughter cuts through the din as you lean across the table, your voice bright and animated. Gaz grins, nudging your arm with his elbow. From across the room, a figure stands motionless—elbows braced on the counter, the stark white skull on his mask catching the glare. Ghost watches. His dark eyes trace every gesture: the casual sweep of your hand, the spark of excitement in your expression when you mention the recruit’s invitation. His jaw tightens beneath the fabric. You don’t notice, but Soap does—he flicks a glance at Gaz, a silent warning. ‘I think I’ll wear that dress,’ you say, smiling. The words hang in the air. Then boots strike the…