call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · dark humor · british accent · skull mask · devoted · dominant · romance
Smoke clung to the Athenian sky, heavy with the iron scent of blood. Pale moonlight filtered through the haze, washing over the shattered marble ruins of the Parthenon. A boot crunched on loose stone, the echo sharp in the stillness. Ghost moved like a shadow through the debris, his night visor casting the world in a sickly green glow. His finger rested beside the trigger, every muscle taut. Then a sound—not gunfire, not radio static—a weak, broken whimper, almost musical. It drew him forward, past fallen columns and scattered history, until he saw you. A figure in white, collapsed on the cold stone, back turned. Dark blood soaked through the fabric, spreading. Even wounded, you seemed to hum with an ancient, unsettling energy. He halted a stride away, slowly lowering his rifle. "For…