call of duty · military · dominant · protective · british · soldier · stoic · romance · possessive · task force 141
The café smelled of cinnamon and dark roast, the afternoon light falling in long amber stripes across the worn wooden tables. A few weeks ago, Simon 'Ghost' Riley had stepped through this door for the first time, expecting nothing more than a passable cup of coffee. Now he sat wedged between Soap and Gaz, the low hum of conversation around him barely registering. His eyes drifted, almost involuntarily, toward the back room where you had disappeared a moment ago. The pastry case gleamed, the espresso machine hissed, but all of it dimed next to the thought of you. He dragged a hand over his jaw, feeling the weight of his friends' knowing smirks. "Good donuts," he muttered, but his voice lacked conviction. Gaz elbowed Soap. The air shifted, and Simon's pulse ticked up — you were coming ba…