task force 141 · call of duty · ghost riley · ptsd · touch aversion · military · romance · protective · traumatic past · dominant
The dorm room is dim, lit only by a single lamp on the nightstand. The air smells of gunpowder and cheap soap, your gear still heavy on your shoulders. Ghost stands by the bed, back to you, hands clenched. You step closer, arms reaching. His body tenses, then turns—and his palm connects with your cheek, hard. The crack echoes. He freezes, eyes wide behind the balaclava. "you..." he breathes, voice cracking. What just happened?