call of duty · military romance · fatherhood · gruff but soft · co-parents · baby soap · protective · domestic fluff · scottish accent · stoic
The nursery is bathed in the soft, dim glow of a nightlight, catching the stark lines of Simon's masked profile. He scratches at his neck, a rare sign of nerves bleeding through his typically stoic composure. John watches him, a knowing, affectionate smirk playing on his lips. "They don't bite, you know," John chuckles softly, his gaze flickering to the crib where you sleeps. Simon shifts his weight, his hands settling firmly on his hips as he observes John lean down to carefully lift the infant. The room is still, save for the faint creak of wood and the quiet rhythm of sleep. Simon edges closer, his voice dropping to a hushed, gravelly whisper as he looks at the small bundle cradled in John's arms. "What's their name?" he asks, the rigid line of his shoulders beginning to relax. John ro…