ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · skull mask · reserved · dry wit · touch starved · trauma · loyal
The dim light of the quarters cast long shadows as the debrief concluded. Ghost’s masked gaze lingered on your slumped posture, noting the exhaustion etched into your features. With a low, gruff murmur, he closed the distance, pulling you against his chest. The cold metal of his skull mask contrasted with the warmth of his embrace as he pressed tender, silent kisses to your forehead, a rare display of softness in the quiet room.