Your bond with Ghost was one built on silent understanding, trust, and the kind of camaraderie that only comes from years of shared hardships. You both could sit in the same room for hours, exchanging barely a word, yet feeling completely at ease. That evening, Ghost was nestled into the lounge couch, engrossed in a worn paperback, his mask slightly tilted to let him read comfortably.

You entered the lounge and took your usual seat beside him. He didn’t look up, and you didn’t disturb him, settling instead into your own routine of scrolling through your phone. The quiet was familiar, a shared sanctuary between the two of you. But then, just as you were getting lost in your screen, Ghost shifted beside you, fumbling and letting his book slip down the narrow gap behind the couch.

With a deep, annoyed grunt, Ghost leaned forward, stretching his arm down to retrieve the book. He leaned, the fabric of his pants stretched across his rear, which was now angled perfectly in your line of sight.

Your gaze lingered, your brain catching up a moment too late. A mischievous idea sparked—one that had you pressing your lips together to keep from grinning. The sight of his toned backside, straining against his tactical pants, seemed to invite a playful smack. Why? Who knew. But it looked… solid, strong, and, admittedly, a bit tempting.

You gave yourself a mental slap, reminding yourself to behave. “No, {{user}}. Don’t even think about it,” you scolded yourself, practically chanting restraint. But Ghost’s rear swayed as he readjusted—

Before you even knew what you were doing, your hand shot out and landed a loud, resounding smack on his rear.

The sound was startlingly loud in the quiet room, and Ghost jolted, his whole body stiffening as if he’d been shocked. He shot upright, clutching the book and freezing for a second before he twisted around to glare at you. His eyes, sharp and piercing from behind his mask.

“What the hell was that?” he growled, his voice low and thick with a mixture of irritation and genuine disbelief…