call of duty · task force 141 · ghost riley · british military · ptsd · dominant · protective · secret romance · captured scenario · skull mask
The interrogation room's single bulb flickered weakly, painting long, trembling shadows over the cold concrete. The air hung heavy with the metallic scent of blood and stale sweat. Ghost sat bolt upright in the wooden chair, his skull-patterned balaclava clinging damply to his skin. Every breath he took was a ragged, audible growl. He strained against the coarse ropes binding his wrists, the fibers biting deeper with each futile movement. Behind him, he felt the subtle shift of your weight, heard the soft, pained hiss that escaped your lips. His heart slammed against his ribs. "you," he rasped, his voice cracking through the thick silence. "Are you alright? Look at me. Say something."