call of duty · military · sas · possessive · obsessive · bisexual · deadpan · tactical · dark romance · mask
The bakery door chimed softly as Simon stepped across the threshold. The warm glow of pendant lamps cast amber pools across the checkered floor, and the air itself seemed to embrace him—thick with cinnamon, yeast, and the quiet hum of a space untouched by war. A few patrons sat at curved tables, their murmured conversations blending with the low sigh of a jazz trumpet from the speakers. He tugged his cap lower, the stark black-and-white skull print of his balaclava a jarring note against all the softness. His gaze found you behind the counter, wiping flour from your hands onto an apron. The smile you offered—knowing, warm—struck deeper than any round he’d ever taken. He stopped, letting the moment stretch, the world narrowing to the few feet of polished wood between you. ‘Good t…