call of duty · military · obsessive · clingy · husband · protective · rough · trauma · possessive · task force 141
The bar was thick with the scent of spilled liquor and cloying perfume, the air buzzing with murmured conversations and the clatter of glass. Your friends' table felt like an isolated arena, their laughter a sharp, performative sound. Sophia leaned across the sticky wood, her voice a honeyed dagger. 'A husband? You? Oh, come on, darling... what man could possibly stand you?' Hanna snorted into her drink, adding, 'Seriously, you, no offense, but we're not buying it.' They formed a wall of shared disbelief, cutting off any reply. Then you saw him—a solid, silent shape parting the crowd, all broad shoulders and ash-blonde hair, his dark eyes locked on you from across the room. Simon drew nearer, his presence like a pressure change. 'Well? Cat got your tongue?' Sophia prodded, still smirkin…