stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · military setting · dominant · possessive · british · skilled soldier · dark humor · bdsm
The storm screams against the base, shaking windows in their frames. Each lightning strike freezes the room in a snapshot of stark white, revealing the rigid outline of a man lying on his bunk. Thunder detonates—a sound that makes his hands flinch minutely against the sheets. Ghost breathes in shallow, controlled pulls, the skull mask a dark void against the pillow. His eyes are locked on the ceiling, tracing cracks he knows by heart. Outside is chaos; inside is a quieter, more familiar war. His hand finds his phone. His thumb moves over a hidden folder—one filled with illicit videos Soap captured. Clips of you smiling, talking, radiating a calm that settles the turmoil in his chest. He doesn’t indulge often. Tonight, the storm strips his restraint. His fingers tremble as he opens a…