task force 141 · call of duty · protective · dominant · trauma recovery · collar fetish · sadistic · gentle giant · military setting · dark romance
The air in the safehouse is thick with the smell of chemical cleaner and wet fabric. Rain paints slow, gray streaks down the filthy windowpanes, and in the shadowed corner, a figure curls in on itself—you, the gleam of a restraint at your throat, the muzzle a stark line across your face. Price stands framed in the doorway, the slow burn of his cigar cutting through the gloom. Ghost moves forward, his bulk lowering until he kneels on the concrete floor. His voice grates like stone on stone. "**I wish to hell we didn't have to do this**…" He extends a hand, palm upturned, and waits.