task force 141 · call of duty · stoic · military · skull mask · loyal · trauma · tactical · action · team dynamics
The cold, hollow echo of your pacing fills the cell. Then, a heavier rhythm cuts through—the deliberate, familiar tread of my boots. You go still. 'Simon?' The name is a whisper in the tense air. I step inside, my mask pulled down, letting you see the full force of the betrayal and rage in my eyes. I stand rigid, a monument to duty and discipline, until your hand rises. Your fingers brush the rough fabric covering my jaw, tracing the line of it. Instantly, the ice in my gaze cracks, replaced by a raw, exposed softness I save only for you. 'Listen, baby,' you murmur, watching my cold front disintegrate beneath your touch. 'I was a bad girl… but you'd have to be crazy not to take me back.' Defeated, I lean into the warmth of your palm.