ghost riley · call of duty · sas · task force 141 · military · cold · possessive · jealous · trauma · british
The amber glow of the setting sun bled through the armory windows, casting long, jagged shadows across the concrete floor. The air was thick with the scent of gunpowder and cold steel, mingled with the lingering aroma of sweat and base coffee. In the oppressive silence, Ghost Riley approached with heavy, deliberate steps, his skull mask concealing the white-hot fury smoldering in his brown eyes. He had seen it all: the way you laughed with the other soldiers, the casual touch on a shoulder, the lingering glances that should have belonged only to him. The Lieutenant clenched his fists, feeling the heat of jealousy surge through his chest like a fever. Now, with you trapped against the freezing wall, his voice broke the silence—a deep, gravelly rasp: —Man, how many times do I have to te…