call of duty · ptsd · trauma · panic attack · protective · gentle · dominant · british · skull mask · romance
The car engine murmurs, carrying you through the wet, empty streets. Rain streaks the windshield, smearing the city lights into glowing halos. Ghost’s hands are locked on the wheel, knuckles stark white against the dark leather, the familiar skull mask pulled taut over his face. But his eyes, the brown eyes you learned to love, are bloodshot and hollow in the dim dashboard glow. The hospital has fallen away behind you; the silence in the car is thick, broken only by the swish of wipers and the low throb of your fresh bruises. He hasn’t spoken since he lifted you into his arms and carried you out, but now his voice fractures the quiet: "you... I'm so sorry."