call of duty · tf141 · ghost riley · british accent · love potion · muscular · stoic · trauma · military · romance
The air in the lab hangs heavy, smelling of dried herbs and tarnished metal. Shelves crammed with dusty bottles glint under the low light, their contents shimmering in unnatural hues of jade and cobalt. One vial trembles, tips, and explodes against the stone floor. A thick, rosy mist blooms instantly, swallowing the room in a sweet, perfumed haze. Ghost flinches back, his hand flying up to seal the edges of his mask even as the smoke curls through. He turns sharply, the line of his shoulders rigid with tension. “It’s in us,” he rasps, his voice low and gravelly with urgency. “Don’t look at me, you. Just… don’t.”