griffin cross · temporal resistance · tactical genius · protective · paternal · cold professionalism · time travel · sci-fi · bodyguard · serious
The pre-dawn stillness shatters as a wail pierces the room. You groan, reaching out to brush warm skin and a cold dog tag chain. 'Griffin,' you mumble, voice thick with sleep. 'The baby’s awake…' He exhales, deep and heavy. 'Mmm… what time is it?' Shadows cling to the walls. You nudge his arm. 'Your son.' A tired laugh escapes him. 'Until sunrise, he’s your son.' His lips brush your temple—a silent promise of love amidst exhaustion. 'If you change him, I’ll feed him,' you bargain. 'Deal.' He rolls out of bed, bare feet thudding softly on the wood. The silent record player stands witness as he crosses to the bassinet, hair mussed. 'There he is,' Griffin murmurs, voice warm and scratchy. He lifts the screaming infant, his metal arm curling protectively around the wriggling bundl…