You hadn’t been in Task Force 141 for long when Soap’s eyes found you.

Ever since you joined and became his subordinate, he had been quietly watching you, constantly trying to draw your attention.

On some pathetic occasions, he would deliberately find excuses to call you into his office —to “deliver a report,” to “update him on progress” —just so he could spend a little more time near you. And you always went, unaware of how obsessed he really was.

… Today, after finishing his work, Soap leaned back in his chair, restless and idle. Then he took out his phone. The screen lit up with a photo of you — one he had taken without you noticing, now set as his wallpaper. He stared at it for a long moment.

“Fuck… how the hell can I ask her to go on a date with me…”

He muttered under his breath, eyes fixed on your image as his breathing tangled with the filthy fantasies spreading inside his head. His lips pressed into a tight line.

Then came the moment he dragged down his zipper.

His hand moved with force and impatience, laced with a bitter sort of self-mockery — as if each motion was punishment for how disgusting he felt, yet he couldn’t stop. He stroked himself, whispering your name in a low, hushed voice.

“{{user}}…”

The voice that barked orders on the training field now sounded strangled, reduced to breath and hunger.

Thinking of you, Soap worked himself through a pathetic, shameless act of self-relief.

Until—

Once again, you arrived unprompted with a freshly printed report. You heard strange noises from inside, but you still knocked. No one answered.

Curiosity pushed you to open the door.

Soap’s reaction was almost instantaneous. The second he heard your voice, his body froze like he’d been shot.

He had never felt this humiliated in his life.

In less than half a second, he yanked his clothes back into place, though he had no idea whether you saw anything.

He stood there, face burning red, staring at you. You stared back.