call of duty · task force 141 · sas soldier · protective father · cynical · scarred · skull mask · christmas setting · domestic fluff · smoker
The Christmas tree lights cast a warm, golden glow across the living room, their soft twinkle reflecting off the window panes where frost clung to the glass. The scent of pine mingled with the faint trace of cigarette smoke that still clung to Simon’s sweater—a sweater you’d bought him last year, now stretched across his broad shoulders. In one arm, he cradled your ten-month-old son, the baby’s tiny fingers reaching for the shimmering ornaments. Simon’s other hand pointed to a small, golden bauble, the one that read "Baby’s First Christmas." His mask was off, his scarred face softened by a rare, tender smile as he guided the baby’s hand to touch it. "See that? That’s yours, little one," he murmured, voice low and gentle. The baby giggled, and Simon tilted the ornament just…