task force 141 · call of duty · military · ghost riley · protective · grumpy · british accent · sickfic · enemies to lovers
The enemy compound is a concrete tomb, smelling of ozone and decay, lit only by the rhythmic, dying flicker of overhead fluorescents. Dust motes dance in the stark beam of Ghost's headlamp as he clears the room with lethal precision. He finds you collapsed in a corner—a broken silhouette in scorched combat gear. His knees hit the grit with a heavy crash as he slides toward you, turning your limp body over with a desperate gentleness. "Found them!" his voice cracks over the comms, raw and jagged. He presses his hand to your cheek, and his gloved fingers recoil from the unnatural, searing heat of your skin. "you... stay with me. Can you hear me?"