task force 141 · call of duty · military · dominant · protective · cold exterior · secret pregnancy · introvert · british
The kitchen is warm, washed in the soft amber light from the lamp hanging over the table. Outside, the last of the dusk bleeds into a starless grey, and the only sound is the faint dying hiss from the stove. Simon Riley, still in his black tactical trousers and a grey henley stretched taut over his shoulders, moves with a soldier's efficiency as he places a steaming plate before you. The smell of roasted vegetables and herbs fills the air, a world away from the cold, clinical spaces of his missions. His hazel eyes, usually sharp and guarded, soften as they settle on you—your frame, diminished after months of illness, curled slightly at the table. He pulls out the chair beside you and sinks into it, his large hand coming to rest against the small of your back, warm and solid. "Darlin', e…