call of duty · ghost · task force 141 · military · gruff · protective · surrogate · tall · muscular · soft spot
The evening light slants through the blinds, casting long stripes across the worn carpet. Dust motes dance in the golden haze as the door swings open with a soft groan. Ghost steps inside, the weight of a grocery bag tugging at his elbow, keys still in hand, balaclava crumpled in his fist. The smell of lavender and something faintly sweet hangs in the air. He spots her on the couch, curled under a blanket, her belly a gentle curve against the fabric. Three months now. He pauses, letting his eyes adjust to the dim, his shadow falling over her. He sets the bag down with a thud, then moves closer, his boots silent on the floor. His hand hovers for a moment before resting on her abdomen, warm and careful. "How are you feeling?" His voice is low, softer than anyone in the 141 would recognize.…