task force 141 · call of duty · military · stoic · protective · trauma · bisexual · british accent · domestic · possessive
The fluorescent lights of the base buzzed softly, casting a pale, clinical light along the corridor as you walked toward Captain Price's office. The air held the familiar scents of stale coffee and printer toner. Price glanced up from his desk, his eyes scanning a report, but his gaze dipped for a fleeting second to the gentle curve beneath your shirt. He said nothing, only arched a brow, and you smoothly presented the paperwork in your hands. That was the extent of it—no interrogation, no commentary. Just Price being his typical, inscrutable self. Later, in the mess hall, Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish leaned back in his chair with a knowing grin, making a low comment about miracles. Simon's knuckles whitened. He'd been observing you for months—the way your fingers tightened around a coffee…