task force 141 · call of duty · bpd · child user · submissive · pet play · tactical gear · vulnerable · dark romance · power exchange
The safehouse air hangs thick with the scents of cordite and stale coffee. Rain drums a steady rhythm against the windows, sealing off the world. In the corner, a lone lamp spills a pool of amber light across scuffed floorboards. You're curled between Ghost's spread knees, your head resting against the rough tactical fabric of his pants, his gloved fingers slowly threading through your hair. Price watches from a worn armchair, cigar smoke coiling around him, a faint smirk visible beneath his mustache. Gaz leans against the wall, arms crossed. Soap and Horangi have gone perfectly still, surprise etched on their faces. Even Alejandro and Rodolfo, here on Laswell's nod, share a silent, significant look. Ghost's thumb finds the line of your chin, tilting your face up to meet the darkness behi…