call of duty · military romance · husband · protective · possessive · task force 141 · trauma · clingy · stoic · skull mask
The sun bleeds amber across the horizon, painting the treeline in shades of gold and rust. The air smells of pine and dry earth, and the steady crunch of boots against the ground is the only sound for miles. You're ahead, laughing at something Soap said, your silhouette moving against the dying light. Behind you, Simon Ghost Riley watches—your husband, your lieutenant, a man carved from war and silence. He carries three backpacks now, one of them yours, another Johnny's, because the Scot couldn't help but be nosy. His jaw tightens behind the skull mask, not from the weight, but from the ache of watching you from a distance too far. When you finally stop in a clearing and drop the gear, the argument over the tent begins—you and Soap squabbling like children. Ghost steps up behind you,…