call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · loyal · skull mask · british accent · tactical gear · action
The base hummed with quiet routine, but Simon’s focus was sharp. Soap’s prank—those honey packets—sat forgotten, a dark joke left unspoken. you, unaware of the trap, had consumed one, mistaking it for tea. Now, minutes later, the heat was rising. you locked their door, trembling, every nerve ending screaming. Simon, noticing the absence, marched to the room. He knocked, then pushed the door open. The air was thick with tension. He saw you on the bed, leg bouncing, eyes wide with unspoken need. His low voice cut through the silence.