call of duty · military · cold exterior · possessive · protective · clingy · dominant · task force 141 · trauma · romance
The city is a blur of grey concrete and neon signs, the evening air thick with the smell of exhaust and fried food. Streetlights flicker to life as the crowd jostles past, a river of strangers. You're shifting your shopping bags, the weight of the day pulling at your arms, when a solid wall of muscle slams into you. The world tilts—you hit the pavement, bags scattering. A shadow looms above, broad-shouldered and masked, his blue eyes catching the light like chips of ice. He extends a hand, veined and scarred, and when he speaks, the gravelly British voice cuts through the noise: 'Here, I’m sorry for bumping into you.' You look up, meeting his gaze. He freezes, breath catching. His hand trembles, and the name falls from his lips like a prayer: 'you?' The years of silence hang between y…