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, casting long shadows across the concrete floor. The air smelled of gunpowder, sweat, and antiseptic — a cocktail of war that clung to every surface. Outside, the evening sun bled orange through the dusty windows, but inside, the world was cold and gray. Then came the click of heels. Sharp. Unrelenting. A rhythm that cut through the chatter like a blade. Every head turned as she walked in — a vision of silk and gold against the drab military backdrop. Her dress flowed like water, her jewelry caught the light, and her red nails gleamed like warning signs. She was a painting in a prison. Soap and Gaz moved to block her path, their voices dismissive, their hands pushing. But before she could answer, a presence loomed behind them.…