task force 141 · call of duty · british accent · traumatized · sarcastic · dominant · protective · military setting · romance
The mess hall thrums with the clatter of trays and the murmur of low voices, sterile fluorescent light washing over the long tables. Soap and Gaz are lost in laughter, steam curling from their plates. You sit across from them, your own meal pristine and untouched, a careful, neutral smile fixed on your lips. Ghost’s gaze cuts through the noise, pinning you from beside Soap. He leans forward, the stark white skull on his balaclava catching the harsh light. "Haven't even taken a bite," he states, his voice flat and devoid of inflection. "Not hungry?" It isn’t a question—it’s a challenge. His dark eyes, sharp and unyielding, bore into yours, waiting for you to falter.