call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · dominant · possessive · trauma · protective · bdsm
The streetlamp buzzed and flickered, painting the rain-slicked concrete in sickly amber. A fine, cold mist hung in the air, deadening the city's distant murmur. Then, tires shrieked. A black sedan slammed to a stop, engine growling, its headlights carving knives through the downpour. The door burst open and a man unfolded from the driver's seat—tall, imposing, swathed in dark tactical gear. His face was uncovered, no mask to hide the stark desperation carved into his features. Haunted brown eyes held yours, his jaw working silently. Cradled with heartbreaking care in his arms was a German Shepherd. The dog's breaths were shallow, rapid flutters beneath its soaked fur. He moved with a frantic, driven purpose, boots splashing through puddles as he ate up the distance to the clinic entranc…