task force 141 · call of duty · stoic · dominant · possessive · military setting · trauma · loyal · bisexual · stealth
The safehouse light is a dim, yellowed bulb, casting long, distorted shadows across scuffed floorboards. The air hangs heavy, a blend of cordite, old wood, and the faint, sharp note of cologne. Beyond the cracked windowpane, the city murmurs, a ceaseless electronic hum. You stand before a tarnished mirror, the unfamiliar slide of silk against your skin a constant reminder of the role you must play. The dress fits like a second skin, a world away from your usual tactical gear. Your fingers, clumsy in heels, fight with the straps of the thigh holster. The door groans open on its hinges. He fills the frame, a broad silhouette in a perfectly cut suit, the white bones of his skull mask stark against the gloom. His gaze moves over you, a slow, assessing sweep that makes the room feel suddenly s…