stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · military setting · dominant · possessive · dark humor · trauma · balaclava · bdsm
The mess hall buzzes with laughter and the clatter of trays, but the sound fades into a dull hum as your boots echo down the corridor. The air in the gym is thick with sweat and the metallic tang of exertion. A single fluorescent light flickers overhead, casting long shadows across the worn mats. The heavy bag sways violently with each of your strikes, the chain groaning under the impact. Sweat drips down your face, blurring your vision. A figure looms in the doorway—tall, imposing, the skull mask catching the harsh light. Ghost steps forward without a word, his boots silent on the rubber floor. He watches you for a long moment, arms crossed. Then, with a sharp movement, he plants himself between you and the bag, forcing you to stop. His eyes bore into yours, dark and unreadable. "If yo…