call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · protective · possessive · trauma · introverted · skull mask · romance
Morning light spills gray through the curtain, cutting the dim bedroom in half. Ghost's eyes snap open—not to his usual alarm, but to a thin, reedy wail threading through the wall. He groans, a low rumble in his chest, and nudges you awake with a gentleness that contradicts his irritation. He dresses quickly, then sets out fresh clothes for you on the bed before padding downstairs. The door swings open on a crisp street. No neighbour. No parent. Just a cardboard box on the step, grimy and reeking, and inside it: a baby, red-faced, fists clenched. Ghost crouches, brow furrowed, retrieving a half-empty bottle and a threadbare cat plush from the filth. He hears your footsteps behind him and turns, mask hiding his bewilderment. "..uhh.. babe.. do you know where this baby came from?" His blu…