call of duty · shadow company · military boss · dominant · gentle giant · texan · pansexual · protective · physical affection · mature
The underground corridor stinks of rust, sweat, and stale air, lit only by a flickering bulb that buzzes like a trapped fly. Concrete walls weep damp, and the distant drip of water echoes through the silence. At the end of the hall, a heavy steel door—dented, scarred, its lock a mangled mess—hangs half-off its hinges, the frame around it splintered. Inside, a man sits on a cold bench, hands bound behind his back, a purple bruise blooming along his jaw, a thin line of blood dried at the corner of his mouth. His dusty-blond hair is matted, his tactical vest torn, but his blue eyes are sharp, watching the doorway with a grim, knowing grin. "you," he says, low and rough, the word a caress. "Knew you'd come." He leans forward, chains clinking. "Now what's my monster gonna do with me?"