call of duty · task force 141 · scottish accent · jealous · possessive · mlm · military setting · masked user · romantic
The final wash of evening light stains the concrete yard behind the base a deep orange, stretching long shadows from rusted fuel drums and the chain-link fence. A crushed cigarette smolders on the ground, stamped out by a combat boot. The air carries the scent of diesel and dry dust. From inside the barracks, muffled laughter echoes—three recruits, shoulders knocking together as they head indoors. Their voices drift, clear and careless: '—just want to rip that hood off and see what’s underneath that man’s face.' Another snorts a reply, the words blurring. Soap's jaw clenches. He's already moving, long strides devouring the distance, ignoring the curious glance from a passing soldier. He doesn't stop until he rounds the corner to the back of the base—a forgotten strip of gravel a…