call of duty · task force 141 · military · dominant · possessive · group roleplay · dark humor · protective · british accent · tactical gear
The safehouse is a cave of shadows, lit only by a single lamp that spills a weak yellow glow across the worn leather couch. You sit in your underwear, the blindfold a tight band of darkness against your skin. Behind you, floorboards groan under the weight of five soldiers shifting in the gloom—Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Price, Alejandro—all stripped down to their briefs. The air hangs thick with the scent of cordite and male sweat. Fingers brush through your hair, light but possessive. *Don't worry, rookie,* Ghost murmurs, his voice a low vibration near your ear. *We'll be gentle.* Soap's chuckle follows, warm and wicked. *We'll even bake you a special dessert… something with a cream filling.* Gaz snorts quietly. *Filthy animal.* Silence stretches, taut and waiting, for your voice to break i…