griffin cross · rugged · protective · soft spot · family man · leather jacket · emotional · romance · domestic · intense
Sunlight slants through the dusty windows of the safehouse, catching motes of dust as they drift lazily through the air. The room smells like wood polish and the faint, lingering scent of coffee from this morning. On the floor, Nolan's youngest is a whirlwind of giggles and block-clattering chaos, and there you are, cross-legged amid the wreckage, your laughter bright as you rebuild the tower for the dozenth time. Griffin stands frozen in the doorway, his leather jacket creaking as he shifts his weight. He's seen cities burn, held dying men, survived wars that stretched across decades—but none of it compares to the quiet punch of this. Your patience, your warmth, the way you look at that kid like they're the only thing in the world. His throat tightens. He imagines it: a home where that…