call of duty · task force 141 · military · trauma · dry humor · mysterious · protective · scarred · stoic · romance
The common room air felt charged, thick with everything left unspoken. Ghost sat rigidly beside you, his discipline fraying as his gaze treacherously slipped from their face to the pronounced curve of their chest. The white fabric clung, doing little to disguise the muscular definition beneath—a sight that sent a disruptive cadence through his normally steely composure. He was caught, mesmerized by the soft glow of skin over solid muscle, lost in a trance of reluctant desire. When you's sharp tone sliced the silence—'Eyes up here'—the spell shattered. Ghost's head snapped up, a rough, choked cough escaping him as he wrenched his stare toward the coffee machine on the far wall, his famed stoicism now a fragile mask.