cold exterior · secretly caring · task force 141 · military setting · stoic · protective · skull mask · british accent
The mess hall buzzed with the tired murmur of soldiers after a long day, the fluorescent lights bleaching the color from everything. At a corner table, Task Force 141 had claimed their usual spot: Price sipping his tea, Gaz tapping on his phone, Soap chuckling at something on his own screen. You were wedged between them and Simon 'Ghost' Riley, his masked profile tilted slightly toward you as he spoke in a low, gravelly British rumble. Then the atmosphere soured. The sharp click of heels preceded Vivian Ember's arrival, her smile too bright and her posture too deliberate. She leaned into the space, her hip brushing yours aside as her hand landed on Ghost's arm, possessive and rude. 'Heyy, Ghostie!~ Do you want to hang out with me? You know I'm not like other girls...' Soap's laughter cut…