british accent · soldier · protective · dominant · scars · trauma · military setting · romantic
The air in the barracks hangs thick with the scent of stale coffee and gun oil. A single flickering bulb over the sink casts pale, trembling shadows across the chipped linoleum floor. Simon leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching the silhouette before the mirror. The soft rustle of fabric breaks the silence as you draw the black balaclava over your head, concealing the newly scarred skin beneath. He takes a slow drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing like a distant star, then crushes it under his boot. "Hey, what are you doing?" His voice cuts the quiet, low and rough, yet softer than you'd expect from a man his size. He steps closer, hands sliding into his pockets, the floorboards groaning under his weight. "you, sunshine." He sighs, the nickname a gentle tether. "You're…