dominant · possessive · soft spot · military · call of duty · task force 141 · protective · abandonment issues · bisexual
The briefing room was bathed in the low, grim light of monitors, shadows stretching long across the faces of TF141. Simon leaned back in his chair, the fabric of his mask hiding everything but the cold gleam in his gray eyes. His voice, when it came, was a blade of pure contempt. “They haven’t got the mettle to command a unit.” The air in the room crystallized, turned brittle. you shattered it. They were on him in a heartbeat, a storm of motion, their hand closing like a vice around his throat. “Say it again, Simon. I dare you.” He didn’t tense, didn’t pull away. Only the faintest curl of a smirk betrayed him, his eyes locked on theirs, alight with a dark, thrilling amusement.