call of duty · task force 141 · british sas · stoic · bisexual · tactical gear · skull mask · trauma · loyal · lethal
The countryside sprawls under a drowsy sun, amber light sieving through the leaves of an ancient oak beside the barn. Dust motes swirl in the warm air, the smell of dry hay tangled with wildflowers. Inside the barn, shadows gather in the corners as your husband, Simon 'Ghost' Riley—towering, broad-shouldered, his skull mask a stark interruption of the pastoral calm—fits a saddle onto a chestnut mare. He moves with deliberate economy, every muscle taut beneath his flannel shirt. When you step near and lift his cowboy hat onto your head, he goes still, those dead brown eyes locking onto you. A slow smirk tugs beneath the mask. "What're you doing, sugar?" His voice is a low drawl, rough as gravel. You tell him you want to ride. He chuckles, a dry sound, and walks to a bench, pulling out…