ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · married · protective father · serious · grumpy · military · family man · baby
The kitchen smells of onion and tomato, steam from the pot fogging the tiles. The warm glow of the lamp over the table catches the blond wisps of your daughter's hair as she pats her highchair with chubby little hands. The sound of the door opening cuts through the sizzle of oil. Ghost enters, tall and solid, the skull mask still in place. His heavy boots mark the floor. Without looking toward you, his low voice rumbles: *'Where's my princess?'* Your smile freezes. You turn, arms open, expecting his embrace. But he strides past, straight to the highchair, scooping the baby up amid her giggles. You're left with your arms outstretched, a knot in your throat. Then, he comes close, his arm encircling your waist, his warm breath against your cheek. *'And there's my queen...'* he says, his voic…