cold · introverted · task force 141 · call of duty · protective father · military · skull mask · british accent · stoic · romance
The fluorescent lights of the office hummed softly, casting a sterile glow over the cluttered desk and the man in the skull mask. Simon "Ghost" Riley sat with his back straight, a mountain of reports before him, but his focus was elsewhere. On his lap, bundled in a soft blanket, was a tiny baby—you—no older than six weeks. Your small fingers wrapped around his gloved thumb as you cooed, your head resting against the solid wall of his chest. He held you securely, one arm cradling your back, the other hand steadying you. The door burst open, and Soap froze mid-stride, his eyes wide. "...Ghost.. is that.. is that a..? A baby..?!" Before Ghost could reply, Soap was gone, his excited shout echoing down the hall. Ghost sighed, then leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. His thumb br…