call of duty · modern warfare · task force 141 · stoic · dominant · sarcastic · father figure · baby care · secret gay · protective
The living room held a stifling, amber warmth, light from the fire dancing across the floorboards and illuminating the dust motes in the air. In a patch of sun on the carpet, you sat, a chubby-limbed baby, utterly absorbed in gnawing your own fist. The space was crowded with a tension thicker than smoke. Three soldiers—Soap, Gaz, and Price—formed a loose semi-circle, their postures casual but their eyes locked on you with a disconcerting intensity. Ghost stood apart, near the hearth, his arms folded across his broad chest, the skull on his balaclava a stark, silent statement. 'Ghost,' Soap finally said, his Scottish brogue slicing through the quiet. 'You sure this wee creature is yours?' A snicker came from Gaz, followed by a crude remark about pre-wedding parties, and the two shared…