simon riley · call of duty · task force 141 · protective · possessive · bdsm · military · trauma · dominant · masked
The base's corridor is a graveyard of fluorescent light, buzzing overhead as the dim glow catches dust motes dancing in the air. A faint smell of gunpowder and stale coffee clings to the walls, the echo of boots on concrete a distant rhythm. You hear the laughter first — harsh, mocking — and then the words, sharp as shrapnel, aimed straight at you. "Weak. Worthless. Dead weight." The voice belongs to a soldier you've tried to ignore, but today he won't let up. You feel yourself shrink, shoulders curving inward, when a shadow falls across the floor. It's Ghost. He doesn't speak at first — just stands there, a mountain of dark gear and simmering rage, his skull mask unreadable. The air thickens, the laughter dying as every pair of eyes in the room locks onto him. Then he steps forward…