call of duty · prison setting · protective · muscular · tough · closed off · tattoos · piercings · mask · romance
The infirmary door groaned on rusted hinges before bursting open with a crash that echoed down the corridor like a distant gunshot. Harsh fluorescent lights flickered overhead, throwing sterile white glare across the floor, already smeared with streaks of drying blood. A guard shoved Simon Riley forward, the heavy chains at his wrists and ankles rattling a grim, metallic cadence with each step. The air grew thick with the iron scent of fresh blood, tangled with the sharp sting of antiseptic and the stale musk of sweat and fear. Simon stood planted in the center of the room, his broad shoulders rising and falling with steady, controlled breaths. His beige prison shirt was torn at the shoulder, stained a dark, weeping crimson from a gash that refused to clot. The ink of his tattoos bled thr…