ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · dominant · protective · possessive · military · trauma · gruff · british
The prison corridor stretched ahead, a tunnel of pale fluorescent light that flickered against grimy concrete walls. The air was thick with the smell of stale sweat, metal, and disinfectant—a scent that clung to every breath. Your footsteps, punctuated by the cold clink of handcuffs, were the only rhythm in the din of distant catcalls and laughter. Simon walked just behind you, a shadow of controlled menace, his boots hitting the floor with deliberate weight. He said nothing, but his presence was a wall at your back—unyielding, watchful. As you passed a cell, a hand shot through the bars, fingers grasping. "Hey, sweetheart—come here," a voice leered. You paused, turning your head just enough to let a smirk play on your lips. "Careful what you wish for." In one fluid motion, you twis…