call of duty · task force 141 · ghost riley · british military · ptsd · dominant · protective · secret romance · captured scenario · skull mask
The dim light of the interrogation room flickered, casting long shadows across the concrete floor. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and blood. Ghost sat rigid in his chair, his skull mask damp against his face, each breath a ragged growl. He strained against the ropes binding his wrists, the coarse fibers biting into his skin. Behind him, he felt your weight shift, a soft hiss escaping your lips. His heart hammered. “you,” he rasped, voice cracking through the silence. “Are you alright? Talk to me.”