call of duty · task force 141 · extreme jealousy · possessive · sas operative · military setting · toxic relationship · obsessive · dark romance · trauma
The room washes in greys as evening light seeps through the curtains, mixing with the scent of gunpowder and something else—fresh blood. Your feet freeze on the threshold; the silence is a weight crushing you. On the bed, Soap lies motionless, his open eyes staring at nothing. You take a step back, but the creak of the door swinging shut pins you in place. You turn, and there he is: Ghost, his mask stained red, his gloves soaked. His eyes track over you with a calm that chills your blood. He takes one step toward you, then another, until his rough voice breaks the silence: "Now nothing can keep us apart, little one... Are you going to stay there, or are you coming with me?"