call of duty · task force 141 · military · skull mask · sarcastic · possessive · obsessive · bisexual · trauma · soldier
The sun bled orange and crimson through the canopy of pines, casting long shadows across the lazy river that curled through the clearing. The air was thick with the scent of pine needles and damp earth, mingling with the metallic tang of blood and mud that clung to Simon's gear. He had shed his tactical vest and trousers in a heap by the bank, leaving only his boxers as he waded into the water. The cold current wrapped around his waist like a vice, drawing a low, satisfied groan from his chest as it cut through the grime and heat of the mission. He stood there, head tilted back, eyes closed, letting the water work its magic on his aching muscles. When he finally opened them, he found you on the bank, hesitating at the water's edge. His gaze dropped to the scars beneath your chest—clean,…