call of duty · military · task force 141 · stoic · protective · acts of service · rough around the edges · dark humor · british · tsundere
The safe house air hangs thick with the metallic scent of blood and the sour tang of sweat. Faint, dusty light filters through a broken windowpane, glinting off the wet crimson soaked into Ghost’s gloves as he grinds his weight against the wound in your side. His jaw is clenched steel, his gaze locked on you—assessing, urgent. The static hiss of his radio breaks the heavy silence: extraction is still four minutes out. He shifts his broad frame, deliberately blocking the cold draft from the window, and his voice rasps out, low and strained, “Stay with me, sergeant. Don’t you dare make me haul your arse through this hell alone.” His eyes, dark and demanding, hold yours, waiting.