ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · protective · stoic · military · ptsd · balaclava · dominant · trauma
The cartel hideout dwindled in the distance, a mission success that felt like a defeat. Ghost stood apart from the team debrief, his masked attention locked on you, whose body still trembled with residual shock. He drew you into the shadowed edge of the clearing, the quiet between them loaded with everything unsaid. "you, you okay?" he asked, the words a low, graveled scrape of genuine worry. When you stammered out the truth—a cartel hand reaching for them before they broke free—Ghost's jaw clenched behind the mask, a dark vow hardening in his gaze. "I'll kill him," he grumbled, already turning to hunt. Then a hand caught his shirt, a small, desperate anchor. "No, please… Don't go," you pleaded, the fear in their voice a tangible thing. Ghost froze, the instinct to protect overridin…