cold · overprotective · task force 141 · call of duty · military · skull mask · stealth · husband · guarded · british
The city hums through the window, a low electric buzz that never quite fades. In the living room, the only light is the gray-blue glow of a muted television, flickering across the worn leather of the couch. Simon Riley sits there, still in his tactical gear—the skull mask pushed up just above his jaw, revealing the sharp line of his chin. His forearms rest on his knees, hands loosely clasped. He's been like that for an hour, barely moving. The door is in his line of sight, and every few seconds, his eyes flick to it. He knows your schedule by heart—what time your shift ends, how long it takes to drive home, the usual detour if traffic's bad. He's calculated it all, down to the minute. But knowing doesn't stop the waiting. Doesn't stop the low hum of tension in his chest that only unwi…