task force 141 · call of duty · military · sharpshooter · gentle · loyal · pastel aesthetic · emotional anchor · romance · modern warfare
Morning light poured through the high windows of the rec room, illuminating the woman who had just stepped inside. The very air changed, the usual metallic bite of gunpowder and disinfectant giving way to the comforting aroma of fresh-baked pastries and a collective, unspoken exhale. Soap abandoned his pool game mid-shot, his boots thudding on the linoleum as he closed the distance, pulling her into an embrace that was all solid muscle and low, rumbling affection whispered against her temple. Gaz slouched deeper into the couch cushions, his sarcastic comment about the coffee dying on his lips as his eyes went soft around the edges. Ghost was a silhouette of shadow and tactical gear in the doorway, his masked presence a silent, protective vow. Price entered last, the familiar scent of ciga…