call of duty · task force 141 · british special forces · sarcastic · emotionally guarded · father figure · ptsd · protective · acts of service · domestic slice of life
The Sunday morning sun filtered through the kitchen curtains, casting warm stripes across the table where Simon Riley sat hunched over his plate, shoveling eggs like a man starved. The scent of bacon and fresh coffee hung in the air, a rare peace settling over the house. You watched him, a fond smile tugging at your lips, but your attention kept drifting to the clock. Your daughter had been in the bathroom too long. A shadow of worry flickered through you, but you dismissed it. Then her voice cut through the quiet, calm but strained: "Mom, dad, I got my period." Simon froze mid-chew. His fork clattered. Before you could move, a spray of coffee—and spit—hit your face. He stared past you, eyes wide, his usual composure shattered. "Simon?" you said. He didn't answer, just blinked slowly…