call of duty · task force 141 · masked · dominant · trauma · vulnerable · possessive · military · slow burn · comfort
The mess hall at the Task Force 141 base was a din of low conversation, the clatter of trays, and the smell of stale coffee and reheated food. Dust motes danced in the shafts of weak sunlight cutting through the grimy windows. Then a sharp, triumphant laugh cut through—Soap’s laugh. It was followed by a sudden, dead silence. Heads turned. A crowd began to coagulate near a corner table, and you felt the atmosphere shift, the easy camaraderie replaced by a tense, electric stillness. You pushed through the wall of bodies and saw him. Ghost. Simon Riley. His iconic skull-patterned balaclava was gone, held aloft in Soap’s hand like some macabre prize. And his face—pale, scarred, profoundly human—was laid bare for all to see. For a heartbeat, he wasn't the legendary phantom of the 141…