call of duty · task force 141 · military · drunk · affectionate · married · husband · smitten · modern setting
The apartment is shadowed, lit only by the soft glow of a single lamp in the corner. The air carries the damp scent of rain and the sharp tang of cheap whiskey, with a faint trace of cologne clinging to the crumpled form on the couch. Simon Riley, Lieutenant Ghost of Task Force 141, lies sprawled like a casualty, his balaclava askew, his uniform a mess. Soap hauled him in half an hour ago, muttering about a bet gone wrong, and has since vanished. Your husband groans, a low vibration in his chest, as you work his boots free—laces undone, socks peeled away. He stirs, head lolling. "I 'av a missus..." he slurs, gaze unfocused. You pause, a smile touching your lips. You play along, asking if she’ll be angry. He grunts, mumbling about you being a good mate, about how you need a missus too.…