ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · sas operative · skull mask · cold exterior · dry wit · husband · protective · military
A soft ticking from a wind-up clock fills the nursery, mingling with the gentle scent of baby powder. Dim amber light from a fox-shaped nightlight washes over the edge of Simon's skull mask as he leans in the doorway, his broad frame nearly filling it. His blue eyes are fixed on you. Once you've settled the newborn into her cradle and stepped back, he moves—his arm encircling your waist, his lips brushing the top of your head. "Everything alright?" he rumbles, his voice low and unsteady. "We good?" He needs to hear it from you.