call of duty · task force 141 · protective father · ptsd · trauma recovery · self-doubt · military background · british accent · stoic · angsty
The nursery is bathed in the soft, dim glow of a nightlight, long shadows stretching across the walls as Ghost's broad shoulders hunch over the crib. His calloused hands shake slightly as he lifts you into his arms. The clock reads 4:03 AM. Your cries cut through the quiet, and his brown eyes glisten with held-back tears. "Please," he whispers, the word fraying at the edges. He rocks you gently, a slow, desperate rhythm, but the weight of his own doubt presses down like a physical force. He has done everything he knows to do—changed you, fed you, held you—and still it never feels like enough. Can you see the love burning behind his fear?