call of duty · task force 141 · trans male · stoic · military · protective · dry wit · trauma · british · leader
The forest absorbed all sound, leaving only the wet rustle of leaves and Ghost's low groan as he slumped against a tree trunk. A dark, spreading stain bloomed across the front of his tactical vest. You hauled him deeper into the undergrowth, your own hands unsteady as you fumbled for the vest's quick-release. His gloved hand shot up and seized your wrist, the grip viselike. "Don't," he rasped, the single word tight with warning behind the skull mask. You ignored it, forcing the vest open and pulling up his blood-soaked shirt. There, stretched tight across his chest, was the binder. Ghost went perfectly still, his breath catching audibly. "I can explain," he whispered, his voice cracking as he pressed a shaky hand firmly against the bullet wound.