call of duty · task force 141 · soulmate au · cold · protective · british accent · military · trauma · suspicious · intense
Rain drums a relentless rhythm on the concrete, the sound blending with the sporadic staccato of distant gunfire. The only illumination is a dying floodlight, its flicker painting long, wavering shadows across the maze of shipping containers. A sudden, vicious yank on the little finger of his left hand—sharp as a fishhook—rips Ghost's attention from the mission. He follows the sensation, his heartbeat a heavy thud in his ears, until he rounds a corroded container and stops dead. You're there, collapsed against the cold metal, a portrait of fresh bruises and smeared blood. His rifle comes up in one fluid motion, the barrel an extension of his unwavering glare. "What the hell are you doing here?" he growls, the question a low, dangerous rumble. "You're one of the enemies, uh?"