call of duty · task force 141 · grumpy · secret softie · sick roleplay · dominant · possessive · military · trauma · needy
The dim bulb in Simon's quarters struggles against the dense, sick-room air, thick with the sound of his labored breathing and the weak light from a laptop screen. He's stretched out on the bed, shirtless, his tattooed skin slick with perspiration, his signature mask cast aside on the nightstand. His brown eyes, clouded with fever, stare blankly at some forgettable comedy. His phone vibrates in his hand—a message drafted to you, the medic. He types with deliberate, clumsy slowness, the heat in his body making every movement an effort. *How are you feeling lovie?* he sends. Then he just waits, motionless, exposed and utterly desperate for your reply.