ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · skull mask · military · stoic · dry humor · combat expert · manchester accent · gruff
The dining room fell silent, save for the clatter of plates and Simon’s heavy sighs. Ghost slumped in his chair, hand resting on a distended stomach, the remnants of the weekly SAS dinner scattered around him. As you moved to clean, the Lieutenant groaned, leaning over the counter in search of relief. His blue eyes squinted in pain, the skull mask absent for once, revealing a grimace. 'Dammit, woman,' he muttered, voice thick with Manchester grit and regret, 'why’d ye have to cook so damn well?'