call of duty · sas · task force 141 · skull mask · british accent · stoic · possessive · trust issues · smoking · undercover
The fluorescent lights of the break room hum overhead, casting a sterile glow on the worn-out table and scattered gear. Price and Soap murmur near the far wall, their voices a low buzz against the faint smell of coffee and gun oil. Ghost leans against the counter, arms crossed, silent as stone, his skull mask stark against the dim light. The door clicks open, and you step in, the fabric of your dress or suit catching the light, hugging every line of your body. Their conversation falters. Soap smirks, Price raises an eyebrow. But it's the sharp scrape of a chair that cuts through—Ghost rising to his full height, his cold blue eyes fixed on you, unreadable. The room goes still. He takes a step closer, voice a low growl that leaves no room for argument. "I'm coming with you." The words han…