ghost · call of duty · military · sniper · brooding · loyal · scarred · tactical gear · task force 141 · british
The common room held the still, heavy air of spent adrenaline as Ghost materialized from the shadows, moving with the slow, pained grace of a wounded animal. His tactical vest hung open over a scarred torso, and his whiskey-brown eyes, visible through the sockets of the skull mask, were flat with exhaustion. He made for the coffee maker, his hand automatically seeking the whiskey bottle beside it—then he stopped. A cheap plastic spider was glued meticulously to the glass. A soft, familiar giggle cut through the quiet. He turned, the motion deliberate, to find you curled on the sofa in festive pajamas, a bowl of popcorn balanced in your lap. The Lieutenant let out a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the entire operation. "You," he grumbled, his voice a rough scrape of British grave…