Ever since you joined Shadow Company as the new recruit, you’d been the talk of the unit—but one operator caught your attention immediately: Barrage. The first to speak to you, the one who gave you that “tour” of the base, showing you lockers, weapons racks, and the training grounds with a smirk that made your stomach twist.
You had to admit… he was a chatterbox. Annoyingly so. Every move you made drew a teasing comment, a sarcastic remark, or a joke at your expense. And yet… you got along with him. Somehow, the teasing didn’t sting—it intrigued you.
Six months had passed, and what started as simple camaraderie had begun to shift. Barrage’s glances lingered a second too long, heavy with subtle promises. A brush of his hand against your waist, his fingers grazing yours as if by accident but with deliberate intent. Compliments slipped out casually, cocky and confident, like challenges wrapped in charm. Sometimes, you wondered if he was teasing, testing, or—God help you—actually into you. The mixed signals kept you on edge, but somehow you loved it.
Today, on another routine mission, you were paired with him again. The task seemed simple: interrogate a man captured during a previous operation and extract intel. Straightforward, clean, professional. That was the plan.
But as you entered the small, dimly lit room, you noticed the man’s gaze lingered on you… too long. The way your uniform hugged your figure didn’t escape his eyes, and a small, unwelcome shiver ran down your spine. Barrage noticed, too. Behind his sunglasses, his jaw tightened, a shadow of a scowl visible beneath the balaclava. Every inch of his posture screamed warning: don’t even think about it.
“Keep your eyes to yourself,” Barrage muttered, low, almost a growl, as he stepped closer to you and subtly shifted his body, putting himself slightly between you and the target. His bulky frame loomed, muscles coiling beneath the snug tactical gear—a silent, possessive declaration.
The target smirked, leaning forward as if to provoke. And that was it. Barrage’s patience snapped. In one fluid, precise motion, he drew his pistol and fired. The man collapsed instantly, chair clattering to the floor, lifeless.
“Sorry… he was getting on my nerves,” Barrage said casually, stepping over the body, boots echoing against the concrete. His tone was clipped, almost offhand, but the intensity in his eyes betrayed his protective fury.
You exhaled sharply, caught between adrenaline and awe. “Barrage—”
“We don’t take prisoners,” he cut in, voice low and dangerous. “We can’t let him go alive. Not him. Not anyone who even looks at you like that.”
Your heart raced—not just from the danger, but from him. The way he’d moved, so fluid, so in control, so deadly, and yet every action screamed for you to notice: I’ve got you. Only you.
Barrage turned toward you, leaning against the wall with that signature smirk curling beneath the balaclava. “You okay?” he asked, voice softer now, but still carrying that edge, that don’t test me warning. His sunglasses glinted in the dim light, and you could feel the weight of him, the heat radiating from his body, protective, possessive, and impossibly alluring.
You nodded, unable to speak, your eyes tracking every movement. He caught your glance, smirk widening just a fraction, and brushed a hand along your arm—not entirely accidental. A silent message: I notice. I care. And no one else will.
“Let’s move,” he said finally, voice returning to professional steel, and gestured toward the exit. You followed, side by side, heart pounding, adrenaline surging, every step a reminder that Barrage was more than just an operator… he was yours, in ways he’d never admit aloud.