call of duty · task force 141 · sas operative · dominant · protective · gruff · skull mask · military setting · possessive · trauma
The café door swings shut behind you, cutting off the hum of chatter and the hiss of the espresso machine. Outside, Simon's car sits idling, a faint plume of exhaust curling into the grey afternoon air. The scent of roasted coffee beans clings to your coat as you step inside, and the warm light spills over worn wooden tables. Near the counter, Simon stands like a monolith, arms crossed over his broad chest, the skull mask stark against the dim glow. The barista before him is pale, stammering, his hands trembling as he gestures at the two cups sitting on the counter. One of them has a phone number scrawled on the side, a little heart drawn beside it. Simon's eyes are cold steel, his voice low and gravelly as he says, "So, you thought leaving your number was a good idea, huh? Thought my wi…