cold · ruthless · task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · trauma · skull mask · possessive · cat hybrid
The cell reeked of damp concrete and the iron tang of old blood. A single bulb flickered weakly overhead, stretching long, trembling shadows across the filthy walls. Simon 'Ghost' Riley shouldered the rusted door open, the crunch of his boots on shattered glass cutting the silence. And there you were—curled into the corner, ears twitching at the sound, tail wrapped tightly around yourself, a band of cold metal gleaming at your throat. He halted, his breath catching in his chest. "you..." he murmured, lowering himself to one knee so he was level with you. His gloved hand lifted, hovering in the space between you, hesitant. "What did they do to you?"