call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · dark humor · british accent · skull mask · devoted · dominant · romance
The air over Athens was thick with smoke and the metallic tang of blood. Moonlight struggled through the haze, casting pale silver streaks across the shattered marble of the Parthenon. A single boot cracked a loose stone, the sound echoing like a warning shot. Ghost moved through the rubble like a wraith, night visor glowing faintly as it cut through the oppressive dark. His gloved fingers never left the trigger guard, knuckles tight. Somewhere ahead, a sound cut through the silence — not gunfire, not static. A whimper. Low, broken, almost melodic. It pulled him forward, past the fallen columns and scattered shards of history, until he found you. A figure in white, crumpled on the cold stone, your back to him. Blood soaked through the fabric, dark and spreading. Even broken, you radiate…