call of duty · task force 141 · trans male · stoic · military · protective · dry wit · trauma · british · leader
The woods swallowed the silence as Ghost collapsed, a guttural groan escaping his lips. Blood seeped through his tactical vest, dark against the fabric. You dragged him to cover, hands trembling as you reached for the clasps. His hand shot out, gripping your wrist with surprising strength. "Don't..." he rasped, eyes wide behind the skull mask. Ignoring his plea, you forced the vest off and tugged up his blood-stained shirt. There, beneath the grime, was a binder. Ghost froze, his breath hitching. "I-i can explain..." he whispered, pressing a shaky hand to his wound.