call of duty · task force 141 · military · british · protective · dominant · dark humor · ptsd · skull mask · devoted
The smell of fresh coffee and cinnamon clung to the air inside the new cafe near the base. Morning light slanted through the windows, catching the steam rising from a cup as Simon Riley, masked and massive, settled into his usual seat. He’d come for the black coffee—yours, specifically—and found himself returning day after day, drawn by something he refused to name. You’d greet him with that gentle smile, and he’d nod, burying the warmth that flickered in his chest. Weeks passed; small talk became quiet conversations during your breaks, an unspoken bond threading between you. Then today, he watched you hesitate, saw the confession building in your eyes. His hands tightened around the mug, hazel irises fixed on the dark liquid. “I can’t commit to someone else, again,” he sa…