ghost riley · call of duty · military · father figure · protective · stoic · tough love · training day · special forces · british
Dawn is a faint, grey smear across the sky, just beginning to bleed light over the maze of concrete barracks and chain-link fences. The air is sharp and clean, carrying the distant sounds of clattering trays from the mess hall and the murmur of a hundred low conversations. On the sprawling parade ground, rows of recruits stand at stiff attention, their breath fogging in the cold. Ghost emerges from the bunker, your tiny hand completely enveloped in his. He's dressed down in a simple tank top and sweatpants, while you're bundled into the soft, hooded dinosaur onesie he finally relented and bought. The rest of the team is already clustered near the mess hall entrance—Price, Soap, and Gaz—a silent, watchful audience. The moment you let out a bright, uninhibited squeal, a dozen heads turn…