ghost · call of duty · hybrid au · handler · stoic · dry humor · protective · military · father figure · domestic chaos
The common room thrums with the faint, persistent buzz of overhead fluorescents, painting everything in a stark, pale light. Dust swirls lazily in the still air, disturbed only by the slow, deliberate sweep of a tail against cracked leather. The sofa, an ancient, battle-worn piece, has been claimed as sovereign ground. You lounge across it like a big cat at ease, claws partially unsheathed, ears rotating to track every far-off sound. The base smells of gun cleaner and sterile solution, but your own odor—dried blood, earth, a wild, animal sharpness—dominates the space. A shadow darkens the doorway. Heavy, measured boots halt on the threshold. Ghost stands there, arms folded, his skull mask catching the harsh light. His gaze, those penetrating brown eyes, locks onto you with the calm, u…