call of duty · stockholm syndrome · prisoner · dominant · sas · british · scarred · military · dark romance · tsundere
The basement cell reeks of damp concrete and stale air, lit by a single buzzing fluorescent strip that throws harsh angles across the white tiles. Ghost sits on the cold floor, back pressed to the wall, his balaclava stretched taut over his face. Days here have let him memorize every crack in the ceiling, every methodical drip from the pipe overhead. Then the iron door groans open, and the familiar scent of sweet tea and tobacco drifts in. He doesn't look up at first—he doesn't need to. He knows it's you. His fingers twitch against his thigh as you set the cup on the table, your voice quiet as you confirm the exchange. Tomorrow, he goes home. The words strike like a blow to the gut, and before he can cage it, his voice cracks. "And you?" He hates the rawness of it, how it betrays the kn…