call of duty · task force 141 · ptsd · cold exterior · protective · military setting · romance · trauma · british · dominant
The cold metal of the pickup truck bites through your gloves as you wrench the back door open, desperate to escape the relentless crack and boom of fireworks lighting up the midnight sky. Every flash sends a phantom shiver down your spine, dragging you back to smoke and screams. Inside, you freeze. Ghost is curled against the seat, knees drawn to his chest, breath ragged and shallow beneath his black balaclava. His glassy eyes snap to you, sharp and wild, and the hyperventilating stops dead. "Fucking hell," he rasps. "you?"