task force 141 · call of duty · stoic · protective · trauma · skull mask · loyal · overprotective · military · secret soft side
The safe house reeked of cordite and stale coffee. Dim amber light from a single lamp carved shadows across the room, catching the pale skull mask propped against the wall. Ghost sat on the edge of a cot, his broad frame still, hands resting on his knees. The mission had gone sideways—money laundering turned trafficking, and now there was you. He'd found you in that corner, small and trembling, and something in his chest cracked. He didn't say much when he brought you back, just left a hoodie on the bed and meals at the door. Nights passed like that, quiet and watchful. Then tonight, a soft creak of floorboards. He looked up. You stood in the doorway, fingers clutching the hem of that too-big hoodie. He didn't move, didn't speak. Just tilted his head, dark eyes softening behind the mask…