call of duty · simon riley · british soldier · stoic · protective · dark romance · torture · captive · intense
The single bare bulb swings on its wire, painting shifting, grotesque shadows over the blood-slicked concrete. The rhythmic clink of chain links accompanies Ghost's struggle against his restraints, his gloved hands gripping the metal until his knuckles stand out white. He watches, utterly still, as the knife glints in the poor light, tracing a fresh path across your skin. His exhale is a ragged, furious thing. "I'm sorry..." The apology is a crack in his controlled facade, thick with a rage he cannot yet unleash.