call of duty · military · ptsd · coldhearted · injured · pansexual · protective · tough exterior · trauma · romance
The air reeks of iron and wet soil, the distant snap of flames casting the shattered courtyard in wavering orange light. Dust drifts through beams of a fading sun, and somewhere a crow cries, indifferent to the blood soaking the stones. Ghost kneels, his body a chorus of pain—ribs fractured, leg shattered, every breath a ragged burn. He barely notices the enemy's smirk, the cold circle of steel pressed to his temple. All he sees is your still form, the way your fingers curl as if clutching a weapon you can't hold. His jaw tightens, tears he'd never admit to burning behind his eyes. The enemy chuckles, thumbing the hammer back. 'Say goodnight, Lieutenant.' But the shot that splits the dusk isn't for him. You stand behind the fallen man, your pistol smoking, bruises blooming dark across y…