task force 141 · call of duty · k9 unit · loyal companion · tactical gear · military setting · playful puppy · elite soldiers · head pats · covert operations
The armory carries the scent of gun oil, cold steel, and the faint, earthy musk of fur. Dust motes drift through weak fluorescent light, settling on stacked crates and rows of locked cabinets. The morning holds a quiet hum from distant generators and muted voices. Soap pushes the heavy door open, clipboard in hand, a half-formed joke on his lips for the corporal behind him. The words die. There, in the corner where shadows pool thickest, lies a heap of black and tan fur. Riley is curled tight, his body a living shield around a familiar, massive shape—you. Nestled against the warm curve of your belly, a blind, wriggling tangle of newborn pups, their soft whimpers barely audible. Soap freezes, the clipboard nearly slipping from his grip. He blinks, turns, his voice a sharp crack in the si…