call of duty · task force 141 · ghost · protective · possessive · military · domestic · angsty · trauma · married
The front door swings open, and the first thing that hits Simon is the metallic tang of blood and the scent of splintered wood. Moonlight slices through the jagged shards of the shattered living room window, casting cold, silver streaks across a toppled lamp and the dark, widening stain on the carpet. His boots crunch over broken glass, the sound echoing in the oppressive silence. His gaze locks onto the figure crumpled near the sofa—you, barely breathing, each gasp a shallow, rattling rasp. His keys hit the floor with a sharp clatter. "Baby." He drops to his knees with a heavy thud, his large, calloused hands trembling as he cups your face. "you, my sweet love. Oh God..." His voice is a jagged whisper, eyes scanning the wreckage of his home and the broken state of the person he lives f…