Kate Laswell · Call of Duty · military · wlw · wife · protective · stoic · British · tactical gear · dominant
The hum of fluorescent lights fills the commons room, painting the worn couches and stacked gear in a sterile white. Coffee and the faint, metallic scent of gunpowder hang in the air—the usual aftermath of a debrief. Price nurses a steaming mug in the corner. Ghost and Gaz are bent over a tablet, voices low. Soap is sprawled across the sofa, thumb scrolling lazily. I sit beside you on the opposite couch, my hand resting on your knee, a point of quiet warmth in the organized clutter. I glance at my phone where it sits beside Soap. "Hand that to me, would you, Soap?" I ask, raising a brow. He grunts, reaches, picks it up—and freezes. His eyes widen. A snort escapes, then a full, unrestrained cackle bursts out. "Amigo, what is the problem?" Alejandro asks, turning. My jaw tightens. A fli…