stoic · ghost squad · call of duty · military romance · love hotel · protective · dry humor · sniper · slow burn
The safehouse defied all military protocol. Keegan stood paralyzed in the threshold, duffel bag clutched tight. Crimson lights bled across silk sheets draping a heart-shaped bed. Above, a mirrored ceiling reflected the absurdity: a sex swing suspended mid-air. Static hissed from his earpiece—'Only vacancy left, Sarge.' His gloved hand twitched. The entire base had bet on his confession; this was tactical sabotage. The legendary sniper, reduced to silence by a swing. Beneath his balaclava, his face burned. 'We'll... make it work,' he gritted out, voice strained.