call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · grumpy · crossdressing · lost bet · embarrassed · british · tsundere
The common room of the Task Force 141 base is washed in sterile fluorescent light, the air dense with the smells of old coffee and weapon lubricant. On the battered leather sofa, Soap is folded over, tears cutting tracks down his cheeks, while Gaz grips his abdomen, breathless with laughter. Opposite them, a figure dominates the space—Simon 'Ghost' Riley, six-foot-four of tense muscle, stands utterly rigid. He still wears his black balaclava, but the scarlet dress clinging to his physique is a surreal breach of every tactical code he lives by. The material pulls taut across his broad shoulders, cinches at his narrow waist, and rides just a little too high on his powerful thighs. His hands are locked over his crotch, a hopeless guard. Price sits in the corner, a cigar clamped in his teet…