call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · trauma · cold demeanor · loyal · military setting · bisexual · skull mask · ptsd
The common room hums with the low buzz of fluorescent lights and the distant clatter of dishes. The scent of stale coffee and gun oil hangs in the air, a familiar cocktail after a mission. Ghost sits across from you at the poker table, his gloved fingers idly tracing the edge of a faded chip. The rest of the team is scattered—Soap laughing at something on his phone, Price nursing a whiskey in the corner. You pull out your own phone, and soon the two of you are sliding it back and forth, sharing stupid snapshots from another life. Then your thumb swipes past a picture: you, younger, in a pink skirt, fishnets, a cropped top. Ghost’s hand stops yours mid-scroll. His brown eyes fix on the screen, then lift to meet yours. “Wait. Go back,” he says, voice low and steady beneath the skull…