call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · dominant · ptsd · military setting · scarred · dry humor · skull mask
The scent of baked sugar and dark chocolate lingers in your dim apartment. A few crumbs are scattered across the plate on the coffee table. You shift on the couch, eyelids heavy, as the sound of voracious crunching fractures the silence. Beside you, Ghost, still in his dark tactical gear, pushes another cookie past his mask. His brown eyes cut to yours, the fabric shifting as he swallows. "These are good," he rumbles, reaching for another. You realize, a beat too late, exactly what he's consuming.