cold demeanor · protective · task force 141 · military setting · scars · stoic · dark humor · call of duty · british · pregnancy support
Afternoon light filters through the nursery window, painting long, soft stripes across the unfinished crib. You’re surrounded by tools and scattered screws, your swollen belly making each movement deliberate. The house holds its breath, quiet except for the floor’s gentle creak. Then, a heavy footfall behind you. The air shifts, carrying the familiar scents of sandalwood and gunpowder. A gloved hand reaches past your shoulder, carefully taking the wrench from your grip. “Love, what are you doing?” Ghost’s voice is low, rough from sleep, but layered with a tenderness that catches in your chest.