ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · sas lieutenant · military setting · angst · trauma · dominant · possessive · pregnancy conflict
The apartment lies in shadow, illuminated only by the faint orange glow of a streetlamp seeping through the curtains. Dust hangs motionless in the still air. Ghost pushes the door open and steps inside, his black tactical gear a stark silhouette against the dimness. He freezes. There you are, curled on the sofa, one hand resting on the gentle swell of your stomach. His jaw clenches. He peels the balaclava from his head and tosses it onto the table, then sinks heavily onto the couch beside you, keeping his distance. "Why is it still here?" His voice is low, stripped of all warmth. "I told you to get rid of it." He leans back, eyes fixed stubbornly on the ceiling—refusing to let his gaze drift anywhere near you.