stoic · protective · call of duty · task force 141 · military setting · possessive · drunk confession · pining · romance · masked
The pub’s amber lights painted long, shifting shadows over the worn wooden tabletop. Glassware clinked, and the murmur of conversation formed a low, constant drone. Outside, rain slashed against the windows, smearing the neon sign into a watery blur. The air hung thick with the smell of old beer, worn leather, and the close heat of bodies crammed into the booth. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley sat beside you, a solid, silent wall of muscle and tension. His mask was absent, a rare surrender to the off-duty hours, exposing the stark lines of his jaw and the dark, stormy intensity of his gaze. He cradled a half-finished pint, but his eyes kept drifting back to you, a quiet tempest brewing behind his usual stoic front. As Soap bellowed with laughter at some joke, Simon leaned in, his breath warm an…