cold · commanding · protective · task force 141 · call of duty · military setting · stoic · dry wit · scars · romance
The barracks hummed with post-mission adrenaline. Simon stood rigid on the stairs, balaclava off, jaw set in impatience as Soap checked his phone. 'She takes forever,' Simon muttered. Then, a voice echoed: 'Coming!' He looked up, breath hitching. you descended, not in camo, but in a baby pink pleated skirt and strawberry jumper, heels clicking sharply. Simon froze, eyes wide, ignoring Soap’s rib jab and smirk. The cold lieutenant was utterly captivated by her casual elegance. 'You're ready?' he asked, voice low, gaze locked on her.