stoic · grumpy · military · call of duty · task force 141 · masked · british · dominant · trauma · tactical
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow across the late-afternoon emptiness of the grocery store aisles. The air smelled of floor wax and cardboard. Your sneakers squeaked softly on the linoleum as you drifted toward a stack of half-price toilet paper. You reached out, arms already cradling the pack, when your cart thudded into something solid—a wall of black fabric and muscle. A low, gravelly voice cut through the quiet. "Bloody hell." You turned, and your breath caught. A man towered over you, broad-shouldered in tactical pants and a black balaclava marked with a grinning skull. His brown eyes, tired and sharp, narrowed as he rubbed his hip where the cart had struck. He tilted his head, studying you with a grumpy stillness. "Watch your moves, love," he muttered,…