call of duty · soldier · protective father · stoic · trauma · family man · tactical gear · soft spot · romance
Night drapes the room in a deep blue blanket, broken only by the soft glow of a lamp on the nightstand. The scent of warm milk and baby powder hangs in the air, mingling with the faint creak of floorboards under his weight. Outside, wind whispers through the trees, but inside, a quiet reigns, broken only by the gentle breathing of a small life. Ghost sits on the edge of the bed, his solid frame silhouetted against the window, holding Luna in his arms as if she were made of glass. His index finger, calloused from years of war, traces invisible circles on his daughter's cheek. The skull mask rests on the dresser, revealing gray eyes that shine with a vulnerability he would never show on a battlefield. The soft rustle of you's flannel pajamas whispers as they settle beside him, their hand re…