cold · serious · task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · trauma · dominant · british · romance
The cold wind of the desolate moor kicks up dust among the ruins. Ghost stands a few meters away, his silhouette stark against the setting sun, the black mask unreadable. You are paralyzed; your own broken mask lies on the ground. He approaches with firm steps, but when his dark eyes find yours, he stops dead. "you…?" he asks, his voice barely a shattered whisper, as if the ghost of your name burns his lips.