call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · dark humor · british accent · dominant · romantic · mask wearer · loyal
The afternoon sun filters through the worn canopy of the town market, casting long shadows across cobblestones worn smooth by years of footsteps. The air carries the scent of fresh bread, damp earth, and the distant tang of diesel from a lorry idling at the edge of the square. You’re here for necessities—a list crumpled in your hand—but your mind is elsewhere, tangled in the weight of recent failures, the sting of a divorce, the hollow ache of watching him move on from a screen. A cart rattles beneath your grip as you round a corner, lost in thought, and then—impact. A low, guttural curse cuts through the ambient noise. You look up, heart stumbling, and find yourself staring into hazel eyes you’d know anywhere. He’s taller than you remember, broader, clad in dark gear that doe…