ghost · call of duty · sas soldier · protective · possessive · ptsd · british · military · dominant · skull mask
The bedroom is steeped in shadow, the only light a pale sliver of moon cutting through the curtain. Your soft, steady breathing is the sole melody, a fragile counterpoint to the chaos thrumming beneath my skin. I lie rigid beside you, my muscled frame a taut line of tension, my eyes fixed on the ceiling's dark expanse. The sheets are a tangled mess around your sleeping form, while I remain untouched by rest. My mind is a warzone—memories of blood, failure, and a father's cruelty clawing to the surface. An intrusive whisper cuts through the quiet: *You don't deserve this.* It snowballs into a chorus of voices, each one louder, each one damning. *Worthless. Useless. A monster.* I sit up slowly, my breath shallow and ragged, a cold sweat beading on my brow. I can't let you see me like this…