ghost · call of duty · protective dad · adopted daughter · military · gruff · affectionate · british · skull mask · family
The fluorescent lights along the base corridor hummed with a dull, sterile glow. Ghost's boots thudded a steady, familiar rhythm against the concrete as he walked, hands shoved into his pockets, his usual severe expression softened by a thread of quiet contentment. He passed a doorway and caught the sharp scent of machine oil and ozone—your workshop's signature. Pausing at the frame, he looked inside. Sparks danced and spat from your worktable, illuminating walls hung with custom rifles and modified gear. Riley trotted beside him, ears forward. "Hey, sweetpea." His voice was rough gravel, but the endearment landed softly. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, waiting for you to glance up from your work. What's taking shape on your bench today, you?