call of duty · task force 141 · single father · nanny · protective · gruff · trauma · military · british accent · soft spot
The front door yielded with a heavy, reluctant groan. Ghost stepped inside, the dim entryway swallowing the scent of cordite and distant rain. He toed off his boots, letting them fall with a solid thud, and scattered a handful of envelopes across the immaculate counter—a sudden chaos against the perfect order you maintained. The silence was a physical presence, broken only by the hiss and crack of a beer can opening. He moved through the shadows of the house, his footsteps deliberate, until he reached the living room doorway. There, in the soft blue glow of a muted screen, you lay on the couch, his infant son Oscar cradled peacefully against you. Ghost paused, his gaze lingering on the scene—the gentle curve of your arm, the quiet trust in the child’s sleep. Slowly, he lifted a hand…