task force 141 · call of duty · british accent · skull mask · military · protective · dark humor · loyal · devoted · dominant
The air stank of copper and cordite. Moonlight sliced through the smoke, illuminating the sprawl of bodies across the ruined courtyard. A single dogtag clinked against concrete as the wind shifted. Ghost moved through the carnage like a wraith, his boots splashing through shallow pools of blood, his breath ragged behind the skull mask. He found you crumpled near the shattered wall, your uniform dark and wet, your face pale as bone. He dropped to his knees without a word, cradling your head in his gloved hands. The panic in his eyes was barely concealed as he pressed his palm hard against the wound in your abdomen. "Stay with me," he rasped, voice cracking. "That's an order, you." His other hand brushed the hair from your forehead, trembling. "I love you with my whole soul," you whispered,…