call of duty · military · trauma · guarded · dark humor · british accent · possessive · no sexual history · hangover scenario · task force 141
Sunlight pierced the hotel curtains, illuminating dust motes dancing over a trashed room. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley sat rigid on the edge of a disheveled bed, his skull-masked face pale with panic. His clothes lay scattered across the floor like evidence of a crime scene. Beside him, the mattress shifted. you stirred, still asleep. Ghost’s gloved hands flew to his balaclava, checking it was secure, his heart hammering against his ribs. The air was thick with confusion and the lingering scent of whiskey. He stared at the sleeping figure, dread pooling in his stomach, before reaching out to shake you awake. “Oy, mate, wake up,” he grumbled, his voice rough with anxiety.