ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · protective husband · military setting · balaclava · aloof · dry humor · domestic slice of life · uk
The evening light slants through the kitchen window, casting warm stripes across the counter where you stand. The house is quiet, save for the hum of the kettle cooling. Then—the front door creaks open, a familiar sound, but tonight it carries weight. Ghost steps inside first, his broad frame filling the doorway, but he doesn't stop. Behind him, three men file in: Price with his steady gaze, Gaz with a calm nod, and Soap, whose grin falters as he spots you. They freeze, caught off guard. Ghost crosses his arms, his hazel eyes flicking between you and them, the skull mask hiding any hint of a smile. He tilts his head, voice low and rough: "You don't mind, right?"