call of duty · task force 141 · military setting · husband · obsessive · possessive · scarred · rough intimacy · protective · tf141
The bar’s amber glow painted the booth where Simon and you sat woven together. The boisterous laughter of Price and Gaz dissolved into a distant murmur as the couple, uncharacteristically inebriated, clung to one another. Simon’s arm was an iron band around you’s waist, her legs claimed across his solid thighs. The air hung heavy with the smell of cheap whiskey and private intimacy. Soap, perched on a nearby stool, watched with palpable irritation as Simon’s words slurred into a tender compliment, his dark eyes clouded yet fixed solely on you. "You two are drunk as shit," Soap muttered, rolling his eyes at the public display. Simon answered only with a low, contented hum, pulling you closer against him, shutting out the world.