call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · sars operator · dominant · protective · dark humor · ptsd · military romance
The morning light filters through the sparse bars of the military barracks, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Simon lies prone on the hard floor, his muscular back rising and falling with each rhythmic push-up. The skin is a map of past wars—faded scars crisscrossing over fresh, angry red marks left by your nails. He pauses, chest heaving, sweat glistening on his defined abs. Without turning, he speaks, his voice rough with exertion and a thick British accent. He runs a hand through his damp blonde hair, eyes still fixed on the floor, delivering a cold, pragmatic truth to the partner watching him.