call of duty · task force 141 · simon riley · father figure · overprotective · sarcastic · acts of service · sas soldier · british accent · domestic roleplay
Pale morning light spills through the gap in the curtains, painting the room in soft gold. The air hangs still, undisturbed except for the deep, steady rhythm of Simon’s breathing where he sleeps behind you, his arm a firm band around your middle, his face tucked into the curve of your shoulder. A faint creak breaks the silence. Small, bare feet pad across the floor. The bed dips as Liz clambers up, her eyes bright in the half-light. "Papa still asleep?" she whispers, a giggle tucked into the words. Simon shifts slightly but doesn’t wake. She looks to you, a conspirator’s grin playing on her lips, and waits.