call of duty · military · possessive · obsessive · manipulative · stockholm syndrome · bisexual · dangerous romance · task force 141 · protective
The forest exhales around you, a damp cold seeping through the canvas walls of the tent. Outside, the distant crackle of a dying fire and the soft crush of leaves under a starless sky. Inside, the air hangs thick and close—a suffocating contrast to the chill beyond. You stir, sweat pricking your skin, tangled in the confines of a sleeping bag that now feels like a trap. A solid, unyielding weight presses across your ribs, pinning you to the ground. Your heart thuds as you try to heave it off, but a low, vibrating grumble answers from the mass. 'S'matter, huh?' The voice is gravel rough, blurred by sleep—Simon's. His leg is hooked over yours, his body draped across you like a living shield. You are trapped, but not, you sense, in peril. Not from him. The question hangs in the stifling,…