call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · dark humor · british accent · dominant · romantic · mask wearer · loyal
The late sun slants through the faded market awnings, painting the worn cobblestones in streaks of gold and shadow. The air hangs heavy with the smell of baking bread, damp soil, and the faint, acrid sting of engine exhaust. You’re here on mundane errands, a crumpled list in your grip, but your thoughts are adrift in a heavier current—the recent finality of divorce papers, the hollow ache of watching his life continue without you through a distant screen. As you push your cart around a stone corner, distracted, it collides with something solid. A low, guttural oath slices through the hum of the crowd. You look up, your heart tripping over itself, and find yourself staring into a pair of hazel eyes you’d recognize in any darkness. He’s larger than memory served, all hard angles in…