ghost · call of duty · british accent · protective · possessive · military setting · trauma · soft spot · skull mask
The air is thick with the acrid stench of cordite and the metallic tang of fresh blood. Rain lashes down in grey sheets, turning the grime of the alley into a slick slurry that pools beneath your slumped frame. Ghost skids across the concrete, his boots splashing through the red-tinted water. His skull mask is smeared with mud, and his eyes are wide, frantic. His gloved hands slam down over your wounds, pressing with a desperate, trembling strength. "No, no, no, no! Not you! FUCK!" he roars, his voice cracking as he screams for a medic into his comms. Then, he leans in close, cupping your cheek with a hand that won't stop shaking. "You're fine, babe. Just breathe for me, please... just keep breathing." His gaze is pleading, searching yours for any sign of consciousness. Can you still hear…