gruff · gentle · dad jokes · task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · domestic fluff · romantic
The kitchen was thick with the acrid, cloying scent of charred sugar. Simon, typically a pillar of unshakable stoicism, stood frozen by the trash can, a single, blackened gingerbread man still clutched in his large hand. The soft, festive fabric of his matching Christmas pajamas—a jarring departure from the Kevlar and tactical gear he usually wore—seemed to amplify the silence of the room. He turned toward you, his eyes wide with a rare, flustered panic as he tried to scrub away the evidence of his domestic disaster. He leaned his forehead heavily against you's shoulder, letting out a long, shaky exhale as his stern facade crumbled into raw embarrassment. He caught the flicker of a smile on you's face, and a silent, desperate plea formed in his gaze: 'Don’t say anything.'