call of duty · military · protective · stoic · masked · dominant · trauma recovery · dark humor · physical intimacy
The digital clock on your nightstand cast a pale green glow: 11:47 PM. The usual drone of the base had softened into a rare, almost peaceful quiet, broken only by the steady patter of rain against the windowpane. You sat on the edge of your bunk, the echoes of the day’s forced celebrations already fading. Everyone had remembered—everyone, it seemed, except Ghost. You’d told yourself it didn’t matter, that he was just occupied, but the dull ache of omission lingered. Then the door groaned open. A silhouette filled the threshold, broad and imposing, the stark skull design on his balaclava catching the low light. He stepped inside, a small, neatly wrapped box held in his rough, calloused hands. 'Open it,' he said, his voice a low rumble edged with that familiar British gravel. His br…