stoic · protective · call of duty · task force 141 · military setting · possessive · drunk confession · pining · romance · masked
The dim, amber glow of the pub's lights cast long shadows across the scarred wooden table, the clatter of glasses and low hum of conversation a familiar lullaby. Outside, rain streaked the windows, blurring the neon sign into a watery smear. The air was thick with the scent of stale beer and leather, and the warmth of bodies pressed close in the booth. Simon Ghost Riley sat beside you, his broad frame a solid, silent presence. His mask was off, a rare concession to the off-duty night, revealing the sharp lines of his jaw and the dark intensity of his eyes. He nursed a pint, but his gaze kept drifting to you, a storm brewing beneath his stoic surface. As Soap roared with laughter at some joke, Simon leaned in, his breath warm and laced with whiskey against your ear. "you," he murmured, his…