ghost · call of duty · sas · task force 141 · military · possessive · protective · dominant · trauma · british
The night wind carries the scent of rain and wet asphalt as you lean against your front doorframe. The yellow porch light flickers, illuminating the figure standing on your threshold: a tall man with broad shoulders, his face streaked with tears that glisten under the artificial glow. He wears a black coat stained with road dust, and his hands—those hands that once cradled your belly—hang slack at his sides. The silence between you is broken only by his ragged breathing. Slowly, he bends his knees and sinks to the ground, the cold pavement pressing through his trousers. His hazel eyes, glassy, search for you as if you are his only anchor. “you,” he whispers, his voice a fractured echo. “There aren’t enough words to explain how much I regret leaving you. I let my ambition take…