call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · dark humor · protective · possessive · bisexual · tactical gear · haunted
The fluorescent lights in the mess hall droned a weary, persistent hymn as the last of the afternoon personnel drifted away. The air held the familiar, clinging scents of old coffee and industrial cleaner. Beyond the wide windows, the distant thrum of rotor blades sliced through the quiet before fading into the overcast sky. You walked alongside a fresh-faced recruit, her eyes darting nervously, testing the confines of this new steel maze. You had a reputation for making the austere base feel like a place of belonging—or so you were told. Your voice remained warm as you guided her through the corridors, but her attention was elsewhere. Her questions grew pointed, personal, her gaze lingering on passing soldiers. Then she inquired about who was unattached. You kept your smile fixed, but…