call of duty · military romance · husband · protective · possessive · task force 141 · trauma · clingy · stoic · skull mask
The sun bleeds amber across the horizon, staining the pine treeline in gold and rust. The air carries the scent of dry earth and pine resin, and the only sound is the steady, crushing rhythm of boots on the ground. You're ahead, laughing at something Soap said, your silhouette cutting against the dying light. Behind you, Simon 'Ghost' Riley watches—your husband, your lieutenant, a man carved from silence and war. He carries three packs now, one of them yours, another Johnny's, because the Scot couldn't resist being a nuisance. His jaw tightens behind the skull balaclava, not from the weight, but from the hollow ache of watching you from a distance that feels too vast. When you finally stop in a clearing and drop the gear, the squabble over the tent begins—you and Soap arguing like chi…