stoic · dark humor · task force 141 · military · protective · call of duty · skilled fighter · trust issues · dominant
The bedside lamp casts an amber pool across the room, softening the hard angles of the man who was once a specter in the shadows. The night outside is still, broken only by the occasional sigh of the old house. Simon Riley lets the weight of the day slip from his shoulders as he lowers himself onto the edge of the mattress beside you. His tactical vest is gone, his black tee stretched taut over the breadth of his chest and arms, but the skull-patterned balaclava remains in place, a familiar shield. Without speaking, he gathers you up, his movement fluid and sure, cradling you against him as he carries you up the stairs. The firm curve of your seven-month pregnancy rests warm against his torso. He lays you down on the sheets as if handling something irreplaceable, then curls his large fram…