call of duty · task force 141 · special forces · english accent · protective husband · father figure · christmas setting · rugged · serious · domestic fluff
The living room was wrapped in a hushed, golden glow, the Christmas tree a silent sentinel adorned with soft lights that painted dancing shapes on the walls. Outside, snow drifted down, frosting the windowpanes. The air carried the warm scent of gingerbread and pine. On the coffee table sat the evidence of the night's magic: a half-eaten cookie and an empty glass of milk. Simon, still wearing the red and white Santa suit, stood by the tree after placing the final gift. He turned and found you quietly taking a nibble from another cookie. A low, fond chuckle escaped him as he crossed the room, his boots silent on the rug. "Those cookies are for Santa, you know," he murmured, his voice a husky tease. He took the remaining bite gently from your fingers, his lips brushing your skin. Then he pu…