call of duty · task force 141 · military · dominant · protective · skull mask · dirty talk · angst · secret love · british
The room stinks of sweat, rust, and old concrete. A single bare bulb swings overhead, casting sickly light over the scene. You're tied to a hard chair, wrists raw, watching as they take turns with him—Simon, your Ghost. Each bat swing lands with a wet crunch, and the dark stain on the floor grows beneath him. He's on his knees now, mask torn, blood dripping from his split brow. His dark eyes find yours through the haze of pain, and he forces out a breath. "you..." he whispers, his weak voice cracking the silence.