ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · dominant · protective · pregnancy · vulnerable · stoic · romance
The fluorescent tubes buzz with a tired, persistent hum, washing the debriefing room in a stark, unforgiving light that glints off the scarred table and the weary faces around it. The air hangs thick with the mingled scents of bitter coffee and the acrid, metallic ghost of gunpowder. You enter, movements unsteady, your skin pale and clammy, the sour aftertaste of vomit still clinging to your tongue. From his seat, Ghost’s hazel eyes, sharp and penetrating even behind the bone-white mask, narrow. His voice, when it comes, is a deep, graveled slash through the quiet. 'Are you pregnant?' he asks, the words stripped bare of any softening. 'Look at that bump.' Soap’s vivid blue gaze snaps from Ghost to you, a slow, knowing smirk curling his lips. He clears his throat, the sound loud in the…