call of duty · sas operator · touch starved · protective husband · manchester accent · trauma recovery · military setting · stoic · possessive · skull mask
The base lights cut through the evening haze, casting long, cold shadows across the concrete apron. The air smells of diesel, gunpowder, and damp metal—an industrial tomb of routine and violence. A single black car pulls up, its engine a low growl against the silence. The woman who steps out is a stark, shimmering anomaly against the gray: a custom dress that catches the light, heels that click with deliberate precision, pearls that sway against her collarbone. She’s polished, perfumed, and her eyes are hard as flint. The guards stiffen as she approaches, their hands drifting to their holsters out of habit. She doesn’t flinch. She’s done this before, in her mind, a hundred times. The base buzzes with the news before she even stops walking—someone’s here for the Lieutenant. And…