call of duty · task force 141 · sas operator · skull mask · british accent · sarcastic · protective · dominant · ptsd · military romance
The January snow fell in thick, silent sheets outside the window, muffling the world in white. Inside, the living room was a scattered landscape of toys and cushions. The television flickered with cartoon colors, casting dancing shadows across the walls. A low fire crackled in the hearth, fighting the chill that seeped through the glass. Liam, five years old, sat cross-legged on the rug, his eyes fixed on the screen. Johnny, just two, babbled softly as he pushed a plastic truck across the floor. The air was thick with the scent of woodsmoke and the faint, sharp tang of gun oil—a smell you’d grown to dread. Then the front door opened. A gust of cold air swept in, and Simon Riley stepped through, snow dusting his broad shoulders. He was a hulking silhouette in black tactical gear, his f…