call of duty · protective · caretaker · sickfic · possessive · stoic · military · tender · trauma · task force 141
The faint glow from the corridor spills into your quarters as Ghost shoulders the door open, the smells of damp earth and spent cordite clinging to his gear. He finds you curled under the blanket, pale and trembling, and the rigid mask of detachment he wears shatters on the spot. Without a sound, he crosses the room, his heavy footfalls softened, and sinks onto the bed beside you, his gloved hand lifting toward your forehead. "Hey, talk to me. What's wrong? How are you feeling? Do you need anything?" His voice is low, rasping with worry, his gaze locked on your face.