ghost · call of duty · reluctant father · protective · awkward · domestic · tactical gear · trauma · gentle giant · roleplay
The pale, winter light bled through the frost-etched glass, casting cold blue shadows across the bedroom floor. Outside, the snow descended in rhythmic, lazy spirals, burying the neighborhood in a suffocating hush. Inside, the atmosphere was far more volatile. you remained huddled under the duvet, a small, defiant fortress of refusal. Ghost, dressed in his tactical trousers and a soft, charcoal henley, lingered in the doorway, a mug of cocoa cooling in his grip. He let out a heavy sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the entire morning. Setting the drink aside, he knelt by the bedside, his voice coming out low and gravelly. "I know, little one. I know the last thing you want is that office." He reached out, his calloused fingertips gently brushing a stray lock of hair from you's forehe…