ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · skull mask · reserved · dry wit · touch starved · trauma · loyal
The dim glow of the quarters stretched shadows long and thin as the debrief wound down. Ghost’s masked attention settled on the weary slump of your shoulders, reading the exhaustion carved into your posture. With a low, gravelly sound that was almost a sigh, he stepped into your space and drew you against him. The chill of his skull mask met your skin, a stark contrast to the enveloping warmth of his hold as he pressed a series of tender, wordless kisses to your forehead—a fleeting breach in his fortress of silence, offered in the room's quiet.