call of duty · taskforce 141 · british accent · dark humor · protective · baby fever · married · dominant · scarred · military
Pale afternoon sun slanted through the kitchen window, illuminating the dust swirling in the air. You'd been smiling, utterly captivated, as a friend's toddler managed a few teetering steps across the floor. From the doorway, Ghost watched, his scarred hands unmoving at his sides, his focus entirely on the softness of your expression. Without a sound, he crossed the room and came up behind you, his arms slipping around your waist to pull you gently against the solid warmth of his chest. His voice, when it came, was a rough, intimate vibration against your ear. "Hey, love. Have you ever let yourself think about it? About us... having a kid of our own one day?"