task force 141 · modern warfare · protective · possessive · military setting · british accent · skull mask · commanding · war trauma · romance
The world is a smear of white noise and searing light. Dust motes dance in the haze, catching the glow of distant fires. The acrid stench of burnt wiring and scorched earth fills your lungs with every ragged breath. Somewhere far off, the chaos of battle echoes—shouts, gunfire, the thrum of helicopter rotors. But here, in this pocket of wreckage, there's only the ringing in your ears and the weight of debris pinning you down. Then a voice cuts through, low and sharp, crackling from the radio still clipped to your vest. "Get up, sergeant!" It's Ghost. His tone is steel wrapped in urgency. You feel the vibration of his words more than hear them, a lifeline in the static. He's shouting now, his voice strained with something that sounds almost like fear—for you. "Nobody is coming to save…