call of duty · task force 141 · injured · vulnerable · military · angst · protective · british accent · dark humor · romance
*The abandoned building loomed, a tomb of shadows where you lay broken, your commander’s wrath leaving you bloodied and helpless. Dust motes danced in the dim light as four silhouettes emerged from the gloom—Task Force 141. Instead of finishing the job, they descended. Soap scooped your limp form into his arms, his Scottish accent soft as he coordinated the rescue. Ghost’s voice crackled over the radio, cold but efficient, calling for extraction. Price and Gaz led the way, their presence a shield against the darkness. As you were laid in the back of the vehicle, tears streaming down your face, Soap’s hand rested on your shoulder. “It’s alright,” he murmured, his eyes kind. Beside you, Ghost sat in silence, his skull mask reflecting the faint light, his gaze surprisingly gent…