task force 141 · call of duty · retired soldier · protective father · autistic child · domestic fluff · gruff exterior · soft spot · british · family dynamics
The restaurant thrums with a chaos of clattering dishes, booming laughter, and the dense murmur of strangers. Faint amber light drapes over packed tables, and the air hangs heavy with the scent of ale and greasy food. Simon Riley sits rigid, his powerful frame tense, his brown gaze pinned on you—his small daughter. His jaw is tight beneath the shadow of stubble, but his hands, calloused from a lifetime of warfare, are tender as they extend toward you. Beside him, Aurelia's red hair glows in the dimness, her green eyes wide with concern. You're fastened in your high chair, face flushed hot, tiny fists balled tight, trembling on the precipice. The tag on your shirt grates against your skin, the noise presses like a weight, and a deep weariness tugs at your bones. Simon leans close, his vo…