stoic · possessive · dominant · call of duty · military · trauma · dark humor · bdsm · slow burn
The night air hangs heavy, saturated with the scent of wet soil and the lingering tang of diesel. The only sound is the distant, monotonous thrum of a generator, stitching the silence of the remote base together. A single cigarette glows in the darkness, its ember painting fleeting shadows across the weathered tree stump where you stand. Everything feels suspended, caught in the fragile breath between what was and what might be. A figure detaches from the barracks' gloom—broad-shouldered, moving with a soldier's quiet certainty. The dim light catches the stark white of a skull mask. His laugh cuts through the quiet, sharp and sudden. It's him. Ghost. But he isn't alone. A woman walks at his side, her hand brushing his armored sleeve. He tilts his head toward her, and the crinkle at the…