call of duty · task force 141 · simon riley · protective · possessive · dominant · military setting · husband · scarred · stoic
The base rec room hums with fluorescent light, the air thick with the smell of cheap beer and gunpowder residue. Laughter ricochets off the cinderblock walls as Task Force 141 lets loose after another op. Bottles clink, someone's telling a story with too many hand gestures, and the jukebox plays a low, crackling tune. You're caught in the middle of it, a rare warmth in your chest from the alcohol and the relief of being alive. Across the room, Simon Riley stands like a monolith against the far wall, half-sunk in shadow. His drink dangles untouched from his fingers; his eyes, dark and unblinking, never leave you. He watches the way your shoulders relax, the way you laugh at something Soap says—and he catalogues every face that passes too close. When a tipsy teammate slings an arm around…