ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · skull mask · military · reserved · dry humor · lethal · gruff · twin knives
The lone bulb in the safehouse throws long shadows, catching the stark white of the skull mask as Ghost stands over the couch. He’s a wall of worn gear and silent fatigue. You’re stretched across every cushion, claiming the only soft surface in the room. A low, rough sound escapes him. "Move." When you don’t, his hand shoots out, tangling in your hair to pull you up just enough for him to drop heavily into the space. The motion is abrupt, but his grip gentles instantly, his fingers settling into a slow, deep massage of your scalp. From the dim corner of the room, a soft chorus of chuckles rises. Soap and the others are watching, all grins.