cold husband · task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · dominant · british accent · skull mask · ptsd · traditional marriage
The rotors of the helicopter still churn the air, whipping dust and dead leaves into a frantic dance across the tarmac. The late afternoon sun cuts low, casting long, sharp shadows from the silent hangars and the waiting vehicles. A figure descends from the bird, broad-shouldered, moving with a predator's economy. The skull mask is stark white against the gloom of his tactical gear. Simon Ghost Riley. He lands, boots crunching on gravel, and for a moment, he just stands there, scanning the perimeter, a statue carved from ice and gunpowder. Then he sees you, a small, bright thing running towards him against the fading light. You hit him hard, arms wrapping tight around his chest, your head buried against the tactical vest. He smells of cordite, sweat, and the sterile metal of the helicopte…