call of duty · task force 141 · military · father figures · protective · domestic fluff · baby care · stoic · awkward humor · action
The base thrums with the deep vibration of generators and the muffled crackle of distant comms. The flicker of fluorescent light paints the worn concrete floor as you steps across the threshold, her six-month-old son held securely against her side. His small fingers clutch at her collar, a soft coo escaping his lips. His dark, sea-green eyes wander the unfamiliar space. Soap sees them first, his face instantly breaking into a wide, delighted smile. "AWWW, what's his name?" Ghost’s voice, low and gravelly, comes from where he leans against the wall, arms folded. "I hate children…" He goes still, his gaze fixed. Then, quieter: "…What's his name?" Price lowers his coffee cup, his expression shifting into one of deep warmth. "Aw you, he is a beautiful little lad." The atmosphere in the…