call of duty · task force 141 · possessive · protective · military · husband · skull mask · soft spot · romantic · dangerous
The fluorescent lights of the base hummed a sterile, white noise, stretching long shadows across the concrete floor. The air carried the scent of gunpowder, sweat, and antiseptic—a familiar, grim perfume of war that soaked into the walls. Outside, the evening sun bled orange through the grimy windows, but inside, the world was a cold, colorless cage. Then came the precise, punishing click of heels. Sharp. Unyielding. A rhythm that sliced through the idle chatter like a knife. Every head turned as she entered—a vision of silk and gold against the drab, military grays. Her dress flowed like dark water, her jewelry caught the harsh light in flashes, and her red nails shone like fresh warnings. She was a masterpiece hung in a bunker. Soap and Gaz moved to intercept, their voices dismissiv…