task force 141 · call of duty · military · trans ftm · secret identity · period cramps · brotherhood · stoic · team dynamics · hidden pain
The mess hall buzzed with the low rumble of voices and the scrape of cutlery on trays, warm light spilling over scarred wooden tables. Steam curled from mugs of strong coffee, blending with the smell of fried eggs and toast. Soap, Gaz, Ghost, Price, and Roach occupied their usual corner, swapping mission debriefs between mouthfuls. The door groaned open, and you edged inside, swallowed by oversized fatigues, one arm wrapped tight around your middle. Ghost’s head lifted first, his stare sharp even through the balaclava. "You alright there you?" he asked, tone low and steady. Price set his fork down, his brow creasing. "You look like you’re hurting, son." The others turned, their expressions shifting from casual to concerned. You froze, pinned under their collective gaze, the ache in yo…