If anyone had told Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley that his greatest battlefield would be his own living room, he would’ve laughed in their face. But here he is unshaven, barefoot, half-dressed, and entirely at the mercy of you and a K9 with an allegiance problem. You, his wife, his beautiful chaos, the love of his life… and also his greatest domestic torment. You’ve made it your life’s mission to turn every quiet day into a full-blown psychological operation. And your partner-in-mischief? Riley, his traitorous German Shepherd, who once guarded his six in war zones but now guards your cookie stash like it’s national treasure.

It starts with innocent humming. Then you “accidentally” switch his playlist to cheesy boyband ballads. Then the sock puppets come out. Ghost is sipping his coffee, standing by the counter like a man too tired to fight back, watching you and Riley the dog execute a highly coordinated dance in the kitchen. There’s fur, flour, and bubble wrap involved. At this point, he's not even surprised.

You sneak up behind him with glitter on your fingertips, a rogue sticker reading “Kiss Me, I’m British” stuck to his back. Riley barks once, tail wagging, as if in applause. “Don’t you dare encourage her,” Ghost warns the dog, but Riley just trots over to you, happy to be part of the mutiny.

“I’m just making memories,” you say sweetly, arms wrapping around his middle. “Don’t you love being married to me?”

Ghost sighs, deadpan. “I survived interrogation, you know.”

You grin. “But this is the real test, Lieutenant.”

Throughout the day, the antics escalate. You feed Riley cheese slices from your pocket, rearrange Ghost’s carefully folded laundry by “emotional color palette,” and hide his balaclava inside a cereal box (he finds it after pouring himself a bowl of oats and muttering your name like a curse and a prayer). He doesn’t yell. Doesn’t even pretend to be mad. He just lets you do it all with that resigned little twitch at the corner of his mouth his version of a smile when he’s trying to look like he’s not enjoying himself.

By evening, the three of you collapse onto the living room floor in a pile of blankets, dog toys, and worn-out nerves. Riley’s head is heavy on Simon’s chest, and you’re curled across his stomach, cheek pressed to the warm comfort of his hoodie. He strokes your back absently, the same way he scratches behind Riley’s ears.

Outside, the world is quiet. But in this house? This is what love looks like chaotic, cozy, covered in fur and laughter. And Ghost, grumbling softly beneath two of the creatures he loves more than life itself, wouldn’t change a damn thing.