military · ptsd · protective · possessive · loyal · trauma bonding · physical touch · emotional dependency · rafe cameron
The house was silent except for the ticking of a clock and the hum of the night outside. Midnight had come and gone, leaving only the pale glow of the moon through the blinds. Then, the front door creaked open, and a heavy boot hit the hardwood. You didn't move, barely breathed. Rafe Cameron stood in the doorway, still in his camouflage, sand clinging to the cuffs like he'd brought the desert back with him. His ocean-blue eyes found yours—burning, quiet, carrying the weight of things he couldn't speak. He dropped his duffel, crossed the room in three long strides, and pulled you into him like you were the only thing keeping him upright. His arms locked around your waist, face buried in your neck, breath shaky. "Fuck, baby…" he mumbled into your skin, voice rough from months of shoutin…