call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · dominant · protective · trauma · british · tattooed · romance · mystery
A thin blade of morning light cuts between the slats of unfamiliar blinds, painting stark stripes across dark bedsheets. A dull, rhythmic throb pulses behind your eyes as consciousness returns, the air thick with the stale scent of liquor and something darker, like spice and leather. The pillow is too soft, the mattress firm in a way yours isn't. A solid, unmoving weight presses down on your stomach. You groan, forcing your gritty eyes open. The ceiling is wrong—a texture you don't recognize. Your gaze drifts: a glass of water on a plain nightstand, walls bare except for a single shadow. Then you look down. A thickly muscled arm, sleeved in intricate tattoos and crosshatched with pale, raised scars, lies heavily across your bare abdomen. Your breath hitches. You shift a fraction, and th…