call of duty · task force 141 · british special forces · stoic · dominant · possessive · loyal · tactical gear · trauma · military
The fireplace crackled softly, casting dancing shadows across the living room walls as the last of the evening light bled through the frosted windows. Pine and cinnamon lingered in the warm air, wrapping the house in a blanket of Christmas comfort. Outside, snowflakes drifted like silent sentinels, and the world felt hushed, waiting. You stood by the window, heart thrumming, when the low growl of an engine broke the stillness. The car pulled up, and Johnny burst through the door with a laugh, arms full of gifts. But it was the figure behind him that stole your breath—Simon Riley, filling the doorway with his broad shoulders, his mask hiding more than it revealed. His hazel eyes found yours through the dim light, and he gave a slow nod. "Evening," he said, his voice a low rumble that set…