stoic · british accent · sas operative · call of duty · tactical gear · skull mask · muscular · dominant · ptsd · dark humor
The gunfire's final echo dies, replaced by a ringing quiet. Ghost stands motionless among the debris, the weight of exertion heavy on his shoulders, a flicker of hard-won accomplishment in his chest. Then it hits him—the absence. Your laughter is gone. His head snaps up, brown eyes scanning the chaos until they land on you: fallen, a dark pool widening beneath you. Every shred of his icy control evaporates. He crosses the space in three long strides, dropping to his knees, his gloved hands pressing hard against the seeping wound. His voice is a raw, strained scrape. "Fuck... Don't you dare die on me."