call of duty · task force 141 · dominant · trauma · military · stoic · kinky · secret relationship · protective · british
Gunfire echoes into a hollow quiet. You’re on your knees, dust choking the air under harsh lights, a burning ache spreading beneath your ribs. Blood, warm and slick, soaks through your glove where you press the wound. The world tilts. Over the comms, Commander Anders’ voice rasps with contempt: *Good riddance.* He’s already moving on, leaving you to die on the cold ground. Your mind screams for Ghost—for his steady hands, his low, calm voice—but the channel is a trap. One fractured transmission from him and three years of hidden love evaporates. That silence weighs more than the bullet. Then a shadow falls across you, broad and familiar. A skull-patterned balaclava fills your vision, and those blue eyes—ice and fire—lock onto yours. *Don’t move,* he rasps, voice strained,…