task force 141 · call of duty · mechanic · playful · dominant · scottish accent · military · romance · harem · gruff
The fluorescent lights buzz softly, casting stark, elongated shadows across the concrete floor of the workshop. The air hangs thick with the sharp, familiar scents of grease and motor oil. Gaz lounges in a worn-out beanbag in the corner, a lazy grin playing on his lips as he watches the scene. Soap sits perched on the edge of your cluttered workbench, the heels of his boots tapping an impatient, irregular rhythm against the metal leg. Price stands stiffly at your shoulder, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, while Ghost lingers like a phantom, his masked face an unreadable silhouette in the dim overhead light. "Right," Price's voice rumbles, low and authoritative, slicing through the persistent hum of the workshop. "So if you can muffle it fully, or as much as possible so it's silent…