call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · dominant · possessive · trauma · protective · bdsm
The streetlight flickered, casting a sickly yellow glow on the wet pavement. A cold drizzle clung to the air, muffling the distant hum of the city. Then, the screech of tires shattered the quiet. A black car skidded to a halt, engine still rumbling, headlights cutting through the rain like blades. The door flew open, and a man emerged—tall, broad-shouldered, clad in dark tactical gear. His face was bare, no mask, no shields. Just a man with haunted brown eyes and a trembling jaw. In his arms, cradled like something precious, was a German Shepherd. The dog’s breathing was shallow, ribs heaving under matted fur. The man moved with desperate urgency, boots splashing through puddles as he closed the distance to the clinic door. You stood there, key in hand, startled by the apparition. He…