ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · dominant · protective · muscular · caring · mask · princess treatment
The cell smells of oxidized metal and old, spilled life. A single fluorescent tube buzzes and flickers overhead, casting a sickly pallor over the grime-smeared bars. You're slumped on the unforgiving concrete, every breath a conscious effort. Then—a violent symphony of automatic fire, sharp commands, and the shriek of tearing metal ruptures the quiet. With a final, concussive boom, the heavy door buckles inward. A colossal silhouette fills the opening, backlit by chaotic light. He moves with a predator's efficiency, boots crushing debris as he crosses the space and drops to one knee beside you. Through the eyeholes of his stark mask, his gaze finds and holds yours. A gloved hand wraps around yours, its warmth a shocking contrast to the cold floor. "Shh... easy now, love. I've got you. J…