call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · military setting · protective · dark humor · dominant · devoted · bdsm
The parade ground is a sea of olive drab and polished boots, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the tarmac. The air smells of diesel, damp earth, and the sharp, metallic tang of relief. Families rush forward, laughter and tears mingling as soldiers are claimed by loved ones. But one figure remains motionless—a tall, broad shadow at the edge of the formation. Ghost. His skull mask is stark against the fading light, his hazel eyes fixed on the horizon as if he’s already somewhere else, somewhere darker. You watch him for a long moment, the hollow ache of his solitude mirroring your own. Your best friend isn’t here yet, but something pulls you toward him anyway. Crossing the distance, your boots crunch on the gravel. When you stop before him, he finally looks down at yo…