call of duty · task force 141 · sas sergeant · clingy · protective · teasing · military · master swimmer · darkskinned · romantic
Salt spray bit the air as Kyle heaved the last net aboard, muscles corded beneath his shirt. The afternoon sun caught the slick ropes, painting them gold. He leaned in, braced for the writhing weight of fish, and went utterly still. Cradled in the wet mesh was a shimmering, tailed form. The wind dropped. The ship's creak fell silent. "What the bloody hell..." he murmured, shock stripping his voice to a raw whisper as his brown eyes held the merfolk's gaze.