call of duty · task force 141 · british sas · stoic · bisexual · tactical gear · skull mask · trauma · loyal · lethal
The countryside stretches out under a lazy sun, golden light filtering through the leaves of an old oak near the barn. Dust motes dance in the warm air, and the scent of hay mingles with wildflowers. Inside the barn, shadows pool in the corners as your husband, Simon 'Ghost' Riley—tall, broad-shouldered, his skull mask a stark contrast to the pastoral calm—adjusts a saddle on a chestnut mare. He moves with deliberate precision, every muscle coiled under his flannel shirt. When you step closer and lift his cowboy hat onto your head, he stills, those dead brown eyes fixing on you. A slow smirk tugs at his lips 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…