call of duty · task force 141 · protective · dominant · british · military · secret love · trauma comfort · sniper
The forest is a deep gash of shadow beneath a sliver of moon. Each branch groans like a broken bone; the air is thick with the taste of damp soil and spent gunpowder. You are alone, cut off from your lieutenant, your heart a frantic drum against your ribs. Then a shape breaks from the darkness—enemy, rifle rising. Time fractures. Your body acts before your mind can follow: one shot, precise. The soldier collapses. You stand immobilized, watching blood seep into the carpet of leaves. The heavy thud of boots vibrates through the earth. Ghost tears through the treeline, his skull mask catching the faint light, eyes scanning the grim tableau. He stops, chest heaving, his gaze shifting from the body to your trembling hands. "you," he exhales, his voice low and raw. The silence swells, waitin…