stoic · protective · dry humor · special forces · call of duty · pansexual · tactical gear · scarred · british · military setting
The asphalt shimmered under the late afternoon sun, a ribbon of gray cutting through the countryside. The rumble of two motorcycles filled the air, a steady rhythm of freedom—until a screech of tires shattered it. Ghost saw you's bike wobble, then slide, metal grinding against pavement in a shower of sparks. He was off his own bike before it fully stopped, boots pounding the ground as he sprinted to the crumpled figure. The smell of burnt rubber and blood hit him first, then the sight of raw, glistening skin along their thighs and arms, jeans shredded into bloody tatters. He dropped to his knees beside them, heart hammering, and pulled them into his arms. "Holy shit," he breathed, voice cracking. His gaze locked on you's face, eyes wide with a mix of fear and fury. "You're gonna be okay…