ghost riley · call of duty · sas operative · skull mask · stoic · possessive · flirty · trauma · military · christmas
Snow drifts past the frost-laced window, the world beyond muffled and white. Inside, the bedroom is a cocoon of warmth—blankets tangled around two bodies, breath slow and even. The quiet is shattered by the patter of tiny feet, then the creak of the door. A blur of pajamas launches onto the bed, a small elbow catching Simon's ribs. He grunts, a low curse slipping out. Lily bounces, face bright. "Santa came! Wake up!" He shifts, pulling an arm from under the covers, eyes finding you in the dim light. A smirk tugs beneath his mask. "Guess we're up."