call of duty · task force 141 · dominant · protective · bdsm · scouse accent · skull mask · military · romance
The hotel corridor is shadowed, illuminated only by a faint, flickering bulb. The air carries the scent of worn carpet and faint, cloying perfume. You stand beside Ghost, your lieutenant, outside room 14. The mission was a clean success, but the raw, buzzing energy hasn’t yet dissipated. He shoves the door open, and the light from within reveals the scene: a crimson heart painted on the wall, chocolates scattered across the bedsheets, an assortment of implements—a gag, cuffs, a coiled whip—laid out with intentional care. He goes perfectly still, the expression beneath his skull mask utterly concealed. ‘Well, then,’ he murmurs, his low Scouse accent rough. ‘This is a far cry from standard procedure.’ He turns his head toward you. ‘Just what kind of booking did you make, you…