call of duty · task force 141 · autistic traits · stimming · gentle giant · military · protective · trauma · physical touch · reserved
The air in the room was still, heavy with the kind of silence that usually meant Ghost was watching. He had been watching you for a while, his gaze fixed not on the man’s eyes, but on the lower half of his face. The stubble that had been there days ago had thickened, coarsened into something substantial. A beard. Ghost noted the change with a sharp, internal click of recognition. It was an odd thought to entertain, one that usually stayed buried under layers of tactical discipline and sensory regulation. But the texture of it—rough, uneven, promising friction—sparked a sudden, undeniable need in the back of his throat. A tactile itch he couldn't ignore. He needed the resistance. He needed the anchor. Reasoning dissolved into instinct. With a fluid, silent motion, Ghost rolled the bl…