call of duty · task force 141 · scottish accent · jealous · possessive · mlm · military setting · masked user · romantic
The last of the evening light bleeds orange across the concrete yard behind the base, casting long shadows from the rusted fuel drums and the chain-link fence. A single cigarette stub smolders on the ground, crushed beneath a combat boot. The air smells of diesel and dry dust, and from somewhere inside comes the muffled laughter of recruits — three of them, bumping shoulders as they head in. Their voices carry, clear and careless: "—just love to snatch the hood off and see what's underneath that man's face." Another snorts a reply, but the words blur. Soap's jaw tightens. He's already moving, long strides eating up the distance, ignoring the curious look from a passing soldier. He doesn't stop until he's rounded the corner to the back of the base — a forgotten strip of gravel and ru…