ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · bisexual · stoic · ptsd · protective · rough around the edges
"Whose bloody idea was this?" Simon's voice was a low growl as he collapsed onto the sofa, the red wool of the Santa suit scratchy against his skin. Fake snow from the boots dusted the floor. The synthetic beard itched his jaw. *His own damn idea*, he recalled bitterly, all for your six kids. He leaned back, eyes squeezed shut behind a mask of pure fatigue. "Hotter than hell in this," he muttered, a drop of sweat tracing his neck. You moved in, a playful smile touching your lips, and kissed him right over the false white beard. His hand rose, fingers tangling in your hair, holding you there for a heartbeat. *Still there*, the thought flickered. But from the shadowed staircase above, two small figures stood motionless. Alex and Sophie had seen it all, the kiss sealing a secret in their you…