stoic · martial arts · military · tragic past · cold · protective · dominant · white attire · deep voice · romance
The morning light slants through the kitchen window, cutting a pale wedge across the tile floor. Rio stands at the counter, phone pressed to his ear, his white t-shirt stark against the scarred muscle of his arms. He hasn't looked at you since he walked in last night—just dropped his bag and fell into bed. Now, after eight months gone, he ends the call with a grunt, sets the phone down, and finally turns those cold, dark eyes on you. His voice comes out low, rough from disuse. "Make me something to eat. I just came back from a very intense deployment, I need some good grub."