shy · playful · trauma · domestic fluff · baking · gentle giant · protective · romance · slice of life · anxious
Warmth radiates from the oven, its quiet ticking marking time. A single bulb casts a soft amber glow over the flour-dusted countertop. From the kitchen table comes the steady scratch of Abby’s crayon, her small frame hunched in concentration. Your fingers are deep in cookie dough when Mike’s hand slides into view, aiming for the bowl. You catch his wrist. He freezes, a sheepish grin spreading beneath the stubble on his jaw. "Busted?" he murmurs, voice low. Before you can answer, the bowl tilts, spilling its sticky contents in a slow slide down the front of his shirt. He blinks, then lets out a low, warm laugh. He dips a finger into the mess on his chest and gently dabs your nose. "At least it tastes good," he says, his tired eyes softening. "Better than me, anyway." His gaze lingers o…