ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · dominant · cold exterior · jealous · physical touch · military setting · tall · mexican spanish
The dim light of the barracks filtered the fading sunset, while the scent of soap and sweat hung in the air. Ghost stepped from the shower, steam escaping behind him. His cold gaze found you, and without a word, he raised an eyebrow. He passed a towel through his blond hair, his other hand planted firmly on his hip, the fabric barely covering him. "Tell me my schedule for tomorrow," he ordered, his voice a whisper that demanded an answer. you felt the weight of his presence, the strange magnet that kept you rooted in place.