call of duty · military · stoic · protective · devoted husband · balaclava · special forces · romance · tough exterior · domestic
The compound exhaled smoke and static. Night-vision green painted the crumbling corridors as Task Force 141 moved in quiet unison, boots soundless on broken concrete. Simon "Ghost" Riley took point, balaclava drawn tight, rifle stock pressed to his shoulder—every step a predator’s measured patience. Then the walls began to hum. A low, wrong frequency that vibrated deep in the bones. And a giggle. High, sweet, completely out of place. Soap froze. "He’s already in here?" Ghost let out a slow breath, his mask tightening. "Yeah. He got bored." A crimson fireball lit the hallway, and a severed arm tumbled past Price’s boots. "You married that?" Gaz whispered. Ghost stepped over the limb, voice flat. "He grows on you." They turned the corner. And there you were, you. Crouched atop a mou…