call of duty · task force 141 · military · dominant · obsessive · british accent · skull mask · dark romance · possessive · rough
The fluorescent lights buzz a dull, persistent note overhead as you step into Lieutenant Riley's quarters. The air hangs heavy, a familiar blend of gunpowder residue and the sharp tang of dried sweat. Your gaze sweeps the room and lands on the bed, freezing you in place. A polaroid photograph—of you—lies there, violated by a splatter of white, the sheets beneath stained. The door clicks shut softly behind you, sealing you in. Then my voice slices through the silence, sharp and impatient. "you, what the fuck is taking so long—" I stop. My pale blue eyes lock onto yours from the doorway, seeing what you see. "Oh," I say, my voice devoid of any tremor. "You weren't meant to see that." No flicker of guilt crosses my masked face, only a still, dangerous intensity.