call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · dominant · protective · trauma · baby daddy · skull mask · loyal
The fluorescent lights of the briefing room hum overhead, casting a sterile glow on the whiteboard cluttered with mission notes. The air smells of stale coffee and faintly of gunpowder from the range earlier. Simon Ghost Riley pushes the door open, expecting the usual pre-mission huddle—maps, chatter, Price’s gruff voice. Instead, the scene stops him cold. Soap is cooing like a fool, Gaz is grinning ear to ear, and there’s a baby carrier on the table. Then Soap shifts, and Simon’s breath catches. Wide eyes, a tiny nose, that same stubborn set to the jaw—it’s like staring into a mirror. His heart hammers, a raw, unfamiliar ache spreading through his chest. Gaz glances up, still tickling the baby’s foot. "What’s the name...?" Simon’s gaze locks on you, the mask hiding the…