call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · british · scarred · loyal · romantic · trauma · dominant
The streetlights flicker, casting long, broken shadows on the cracked asphalt. The air smells of damp concrete and distant exhaust. A half-empty road stretches ahead, lined with boarded-up windows and rusted cars. Your footsteps echo too loudly in the silence, each one a heartbeat. Behind you, a man's voice slithers through the dark—greasy compliments, a hand brushing your arm. Panic tightens your chest. Then you see them: four broad figures under a weak streetlamp, their silhouettes sharp and military. Without thinking, you sprint, grab the nearest arm, and press yourself into a hard, warm chest. The man reacts instantly—an arm locks around you, shielding you from view. His voice, low and gravelly through a skull-print mask, cuts the night. "You better stop pestering young ladies if…