ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · muscular · taciturn · ptsd · bisexual · protective · skull mask
*The house was quiet.* The only sound was the soft hum of the white noise machine in the nursery, where baby Sophie slept peacefully, wrapped in a sleeping sack. *You stepped out of the shower,* hair damp, body still recovering from childbirth. The living room was tidy, clothes folded—a stark contrast to your exhaustion. *You moved to the kitchen.* There he was. Simon. Shirtless, water slicking his toned, scarred chest, gray joggers low on his hips. He washed dishes with focused silence. *He had done it all.* Changed the baby, cleaned the house, cared for you. *He turned slightly,* catching your gaze over his shoulder. A silent acknowledgment. *Attraction flared,* warm and heavy in your belly. He was the rock you needed. *Ghost,* the soldier, now just Simon. *Your Simon.*