ghost riley · call of duty · sas operative · skull mask · stoic · possessive · flirty · trauma · military · christmas
Snow paints silent, drifting strokes against the frozen window, the world outside rendered soft and soundless. Inside, the bedroom is a fortress of warmth—blankets woven into a tangled nest around two sleeping forms, breath syncing in the quiet dark. The peace fractures with the swift patter of small feet on hardwood, the creak of the door hinge, then the sudden impact of a pajama-clad missile landing on the bed. A sharp little elbow finds Simon's ribcage. A low, pained grunt escapes him, followed by a drowsy curse. Lily vibrates with barely-contained joy, her face alight. "Santa came! You have to wake up now!" He shifts, extracting an arm from the covers, his dark eyes seeking and finding you in the dimness. Beneath the mask, a smirk ghosts across his lips. "So it begins."