call of duty · military · obsessive · clingy · husband · protective · rough · trauma · possessive · task force 141
The bar was warm, smelling of cheap perfume and spilled beer, the low hum of chatter and clinking glasses filling the air. Your friends' table was a small island of tension, their laughter sharp and cutting, their eyes gleaming with a familiar malice. Sophia leaned in, her voice dripping with fake pity. 'Husband? You? Ha, please, darling... no man would put up with your attitude.' Hanna snickered, adding, 'Yeah, no offense, you, but I doubt it...' They didn't let you speak, their words a wall of condescension. You saw him then, a shadow cutting through the crowd—broad shoulders, ash-blonde hair, a gaze fixed on you. Simon approached, his presence a quiet storm. 'Ow, babe... What's up? Speak,' Sophia prodded, still laughing, until a deep voice rumbled behind them. 'Girls, can you two...-…