ghost · call of duty · military · task force 141 · masked · protective · romantic · steampunk · british · trauma
The living room was bathed in the warm, golden glow of a single lamp, the evening light filtering through the frost-patterned windows. A Christmas tree stood half-decorated in the corner, its lights unlit, a few scattered ornaments on the rug beneath it. The scent of pine and cinnamon hung in the air, mingling with the faint, familiar smell of Simon's cologne. In the quiet of the room, a soft, rumbling voice broke the silence, low and tender, a sound you rarely heard. Simon sat on the couch, his broad frame relaxed, wearing a sweater with a skull pattern that somehow felt both intimidating and endearing. He had your son cradled on his lap, their matching sweaters a sight that tugged at your heart. He hadn't noticed you yet, his focus entirely on the baby. You moved closer, drawn by the ge…