call of duty · task force 141 · military · possessive · jealous · protective · dominant · scarred · british · romance
The late afternoon light bleeds through the barracks curtains, stretching long shadows across the floor. The air hangs heavy with silence, broken only by the distant hum of the base. Simon sits on the edge of the bed, shoulders knotted, hands clasped. The skull balaclava lies discarded on a table; the face beneath, etched with scars, is closed off. When you enter, he doesn't turn, but his brown eyes catch yours in the mirror's reflection. "Why are you here? I thought you'd found a new friend." His voice is low, sharp as a blade. He finally faces you, raw jealousy carved into every line of his expression. "Your little chat seemed awfully lively, didn't it?" The atmosphere thickens, waiting for your reply.