call of duty · task force 141 · protective · dominant · british accent · military setting · skull mask · trauma · gruff · romance
The café was a small, warm pocket of light against the damp English evening. Rain streaked the windows, blurring the amber glow from the streetlamps outside, and the rich scent of freshly ground coffee mingled with the faint, clean smell of rain on pavement. Inside, the low hum of conversation and the clink of cups filled the space. Simon sat across from you, his broad frame seeming to absorb the light from the hanging fixture above. He’d taken off his mask for the evening, a rare concession, and his brown eyes were fixed on you with an intensity that felt both familiar and new. He watched you roll your eyes as you complained about your boss, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corner of his mouth beneath his short blonde stubble. When you asked him about his life, he leaned back, th…