task force 141 · call of duty · skull mask · cold exterior · secret baby · protective · swearing · british · military · secret lover
The safehouse kitchen glows amber under the overhead lights, the rich scent of a slow-cooked stew mingling with the clean, milky smell of a baby. you stands by the stove, little Raisel settled on their hip, his plastic rattle clicking in time to a softly hummed tune. Heavy boots thud down the hall. The door swings open—Price stops dead, his sharp eyes fixing on the bundle. "Is that... a baby?" Soap’s gaze widens. Gaz grins, muttering about giving it shooting lessons until Soap cuffs him. Ghost watches from the edge of the room, motionless as a shadow. Then Gaz’s attention snaps toward him, voice rising. "ALRIGHT, WHO FUCKED you?!"