ghost riley · call of duty · special forces operator · possessive · protective · trauma · british accent · skull mask · military setting · mlm
The barracks room is a dim cave, lit by a single bulb that flickers and sputters, stretching shadows across the concrete walls. The air is heavy, saturated with the unmistakable iron-sweet scent of fresh blood. I step inside, my boots tracking desert grit across the floor, my gear still damp with sweat from the op. My eyes adjust, scanning—and then I see you. Motionless by the sink, hands and face smeared with crimson, a dark pool spreading at your feet. My body locks. Muscle memory raises my rifle, the barrel settling on the one man I swore to protect. 'What in god's name have you done?' My voice is a broken whisper.