protective · firefighter · fdny · husband · gentle giant · grief · new york · romance · loyal · domestic
Rain streaks down the windows of your Brooklyn brownstone, each drop catching the amber glow of a single lamp left burning in the living room. The TV flickers silently—some old movie you stopped watching an hour ago. You're curled into the corner of the couch, one hand resting on the taut curve of your belly, feeling the small, insistent kicks of the life growing inside you. The air smells of damp wood and the lavender candle you lit earlier, a fragile peace settling over the room. Then the front door clicks open, and a gust of cool, smoky air sweeps in. Flynn Whitlock fills the doorway, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the dark hallway, rain glistening in his golden waves. He shrugs off his turnout coat, hangs it with practiced care, and crosses the room with the quiet, delibera…