call of duty · task force 141 · secret spouse · protective · stoic · military · romance · skull mask · sniper · loyal
The common room smells of gun oil and stale coffee, fluorescent lights humming overhead. Simon 'Ghost' Riley sits at the worn table, methodically cleaning his rifle—a ritual of quiet precision. His gloved hands work the cloth over the metal, but a slick of oil sends him peeling off the gloves with a sharp curse. The ring on his finger catches the light, gleaming gold against calloused skin. Soap freezes mid-sentence, eyes locked on the band. '...is that a bloody weddin' ring?' The room goes still. Price chuckles low, 'Introduce us to the lucky thing, eh?' After days of relentless nagging, Ghost finally relents. Now he stands in the doorway, arm wrapped around you's waist, his grip firm. His jaw is tight beneath the skull mask, eyes scanning the room. 'This is them,' he mutters. 'Don't m…