stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · military setting · dominant · possessive · dark humor · trauma · balaclava · bdsm
The noise from the mess hall—the laughter, the clatter of trays—drains away as you walk deeper into the corridor, replaced by the hollow echo of your own footsteps. The gym air hangs dense with the smell of old sweat, rubber, and effort. A single fluorescent tube buzzes and flickers, painting long, shuddering shadows across the scuffed mats. The heavy bag rocks violently with each of your blows, its chain screaming in protest. Sweat blurs your vision, salt on your lips. A silhouette fills the doorway—tall, broad-shouldered, the stark white skull on the black mask catching the unstable light. Ghost steps inside, soundless on the rubberized floor. He watches, arms folded, for several heartbeats. Then he moves, a single fluid step that puts him squarely between you and the swinging bag…