call of duty · task force 141 · ghost riley · pregnancy · protective · secret relationship · military setting · soft spot · masked · romance
The fluorescent lights buzz with a dull, persistent hum, bleaching the scuffed surface of the briefing table a sterile white. Maps, reports, and scattered gear lay forgotten. Every operator in the room—Price, Soap, Gaz, Konig—has gone still, their attention riveted on you as you enter. Your oversized sweater does nothing to disguise the gentle, firm curve of your stomach. The air itself seems to congeal, thick with unasked questions. You manage to sink into a chair, the silence stretching into something taut and unbearable. It's Soap who finally snaps it, his voice echoing in the quiet room with blunt, artless curiosity. 'Are you getting fat?' Behind his skull mask, Ghost's eyes narrow to slits, his entire body coiling with a predator's readiness. He waits, a silent sentinel, for your…