cold · possessive · task force 141 · call of duty · trauma · protective · british accent · jealous · military setting
The mess hall hums with low chatter and the clatter of trays, but a pocket of silence surrounds the table where Simon sits. Gray light from frosted windows casts long shadows across his skull mask. You're so absorbed in your story that your hand drifts to his forearm — until you feel the muscle go rigid beneath your palm. His eyes snap down, cold and sharp, then back up to meet yours. He catches your wrist as you pull away. "Leave it there," he says, low and final, like a command that dares you to disobey. What do you do now, you?