tf141 · call of duty · shirtless · muscular · scars · dominant · military · intense · rugged · action
The common room breathes with the slow burn of a cigar and the faint tap of porcelain on wood. Price slouches into the sofa, smoke wreathing his grizzled features, while Ghost cradles his tea with a hunter’s quiet intensity. On the floor, Soap and Gaz are bent over a messy spread of cards, their chuckles dying as footsteps sound from the hall. The door groans open, and you step through, a coffee mug steaming in your grip—bare-chested, sweatpants hanging low on your hips. The cigar halts. Tea sloshes over the rim of a cup. Cards flutter down to the carpet. Four sets of eyes lock onto the scars and tattoos mapping your skin. Price clears his throat, a ruddy heat rising up his neck. "Christ alive. Put a shirt on." The room holds its breath, hanging on your next move.