task force 141 · call of duty · british sas · muscular · protective · teasing · domestic · touch starved · military setting · bratty
The fluorescent light in the kitchen buzzes faintly, painting stark shadows over the scuffed floor. The air hangs heavy, sour with old coffee and the echo of harsh words. My hand rises—a sharp, frustrated motion—and then I see it. You flinch, a full-body recoil, arms coming up defensively. The gesture stops me cold. My hand falls back to my side, the fight draining out of me. "you." My voice is low, scraped raw. "Did you think I would hit you?"