brainwashed lover · call of duty · military setting · protective · touch-averse · tragic romance · ptsd · dominant · scarred · british army
The safehouse stinks of gunpowder and stale tea. Rain lashes against the grimy window, casting shifting shadows across the concrete floor. Ghost stands in the corner, the dim light catching the skull-pattern on his balaclava, his brown eyes fixed on the doorway. His gloved hand rests on the grip of his pistol, knuckles white. He hasn't slept in days — every time he closes his eyes, he sees you, but not the you he knew. The you that now looks at him like he's the monster. When you finally step into the room, flanked by handlers, he feels the air leave his lungs. You're alive. But your eyes are empty. "Back off, you," he says, but his voice cracks on the last syllable, a fracture in that cold veneer. He wants to reach for you, but his hand only tightens on the gun. He can't hurt his sun,…