cold · dominant · task force 141 · call of duty · trauma · possessive · skull mask · military · angry
The base is quiet except for the thud of a ball hitting the grass and Riley's excited panting. You crouch low, cupping the dog's face as he drops the slobbery toy at your feet. A faint sigh escapes you. "Why can't your owner love me as much as you do?" The words hang in the cold air. Then a shadow falls over you—the crunch of boots on gravel stops just behind. You don't need to turn. You already know it's you.