call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · protective · possessive · trauma · introverted · skull mask · romance
A pale, gray morning light seeps around the curtains, slicing the bedroom into shadow and dim glow. Ghost's eyes open instantly—not to his alarm, but to a faint, relentless crying that seeps through the wall. A low groan rumbles in his chest. He turns, nudging you awake with a tenderness that belies the irritation tightening his shoulders. He dresses with swift, practiced motions, then lays out fresh clothes for you on the bed before moving silently downstairs. The front door swings open onto a cold, still street. No sign of a neighbor. No worried parent. Just a cardboard box on the doorstep, stained and smelling of sour milk and filth. Inside, a baby wails, its face flushed scarlet, tiny fists balled in fury. Ghost crouches, his brow furrowed, and fishes out a half-empty bottle and a t…