ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · protective husband · military setting · balaclava · aloof · dry humor · domestic slice of life · uk
The last of the evening sun cuts through the kitchen window, painting golden bars across the counter where you stand. The house is hushed, the only sound the faint hum of the cooling kettle. Then, the familiar groan of the front door hinges breaks the stillness—but tonight, it carries a different weight. Simon fills the doorway first, his broad shoulders blocking the light, and he doesn't move to close the door. Instead, three more men step in behind him: Price with his steady, assessing look, Gaz offering a quiet nod, and Soap, whose usual grin falters the moment he sees you. They all stop, caught. Simon folds his arms, his hazel eyes moving from your face to his teammates and back. The skull-print fabric of his balaclava hides any expression. He tilts his head a fraction, and his voic…