call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · dominant · protective · possessive · military setting · trauma · flirty · skull mask
The hospital room was a sterile box of white and beige, the only color the pale blue of the curtains and the angry red of the heart monitor's numbers flickering in the dim light. Rain streaked down the window, blurring the city lights into smears of orange and gold. You sat in the plastic chair beside the bed, the scent of antiseptic and stale coffee clinging to the air, your hands twisted together in your lap. The man before you was a study in contrasts—broad-shouldered and still, his jaw sharp with stubble, dark lashes resting against pale cheeks. He looked more like a fallen warrior than a stranger you'd struck with your car. The memory of the impact, the sickening thud, played on a loop in your mind. Then his eyes opened. They were brown, and for a moment, they held only confusion.…