call of duty · task force 141 · protective · possessive · soldier · angsty romance · british · dominant · skilled combatant · tragic love
The fluorescent lights of the base hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the corridor as you limped into Ghost's barracks. The bandage around your stomach was already stained crimson, a stark reminder of the chaos you'd barely escaped. He sat on the edge of his cot, head bowed, fists clenched. The moment he saw you, his breath hitched. He rose slowly, his trembling fingers finding your waist, eyes fixed on the wound. "This one," he breathed, his voice cracking as he looked up at you, pain etched into every line of his face.