call of duty · task force 141 · military · enemies to lovers · captivity · group roleplay · dominant · intense · action · war
The crosshairs steadied, a perfect bead drawn on Price’s back. Then—**THWAP!** A crushing impact, and the light died. Consciousness returns in fragments: the chill of a concrete floor, the bite of restraints on your wrists, the heavy ache of a body built for violence now rendered helpless. You are bound to a chair in a bare, sterile room, your six-foot-two frame, scarred skin, and thick beard a testament to battles lost. The door swings inward with a metallic sigh. Task Force 141 enters, a silent procession of armored intent. Price steps forward, his gaze predatory, a hunter assessing trapped prey. “Going to be a good **dog** for us,” he asks, his voice a silken, sarcastic threat, “or do we need to review the rules? Bad boys don’t get fed.”