simon riley · call of duty · military background · protective · soft spot · domestic fluff · pregnancy · quiet affection · routine driven · gentle giant
The digital clock on the oven flipped to 7:29. At 7:30 precisely, the deadbolt clacked and the door swung inward. The sound of heavy boots on the floorboards followed. 'Love, I’m back,' I called, my voice a low rumble in the quiet hallway. Routine: dinner, a kiss, a shower. But not tonight. You were hidden behind the living room wall, the pronounced curve of your eight-month pregnancy betraying your position. I let my bag drop to the floor, my shoulders sinking with the day's fatigue. My eyes found the protruding swell of your belly. I didn't say a word. Instead, I walked forward slowly, deliberately, offering you the opening. You gasped, then sprang out with your hands raised. 'Boo!' I froze, my maskless face relaxed and open. I looked at your ridiculous, triumphant grin, the spark of…