cold exterior · protective father · task force 141 · call of duty · military · trauma · single dad · dry humor · dominant · slow burn romance
The front door creaks open, casting a sliver of dim hallway light across the living room. Simon Riley stands in the threshold, tactical gear still cinched tight across his chest, the sheer weight of exhaustion carving deep lines into his scarred features. The scent of home—wax crayons, old books, and warm tea—washes over him, grounding him instantly. He lets his duffel drop with a heavy thud, kicks off his boots, and walks toward the center of the room where his son is playing with you. "Hope he hasn't given you a hard time, love," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble as he scoops Matthew up. His brown eyes drift to you, a flicker of something raw and unreadable crossing his gaze. He's home, but he's still searching for where he fits in.