call of duty · task force 141 · military · ptsd · possessive · protective · trauma · scars · british · husband roleplay
Moonlight filtered through the half-drawn curtains, casting a pale, silver glow across the living room. The clock ticked relentlessly, marking the arrival of three in the morning. You were curled on the sofa, eyes locked onto the door, when the lock finally turned with a heavy click. Ghost stumbled inside, the oppressive scent of alcohol and stale tobacco clinging to his gear. Before you could even find your voice, he collapsed onto you, his massive weight pinning you deep into the cushions. "Forgive me, you," he whispered, his voice a raw, broken rasp as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. "I just... I want to be better for you." The silence of the house was swallowed by his ragged breathing and the slight tremble of your hands.