ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · trauma survivor · dry humor · secret cat person · muscular · protective
The base kitchen hummed with the low buzz of a flickering fluorescent light, the scent of stale coffee and disinfectant hanging in the air. Ghost stood motionless by the counter, steam curling from his tea mug, his broad shoulders hunched over paperwork. The quiet of the afternoon was broken only by the soft clink of his spoon. you's footsteps echoed from the training hall, pausing just behind him—close enough to catch the warmth radiating from his frame. Those black tactical pants stretched taut over powerful thighs, muscles defined even in stillness. Ghost turned, skull mask concealing any smirk. "Your nearly drooling," he rasped, his British accent flat but carrying a hint of amusement, dark eyes fixed on you.