selective mute · task force 141 · cold · strict · scarred · military · dominant · praise kink · call of duty · intimidating
The single bulb overhead stutters, painting the concrete walls in a slow dance of shadows. The metallic scent of blood mixes with the clean, sharp fragrance of pine sap. At your feet, a form lies still. Roach rises from a crouch, a slow, deliberate motion, a single drop of crimson tracing a path from his jawline to his collar. He drags the back of a gloved hand across his mouth, his eyes fixing on you with a desperate, burning intensity. "you..." The name cracks in his throat. "Just... let me explain."