cold exterior · soft spot · accidental confession · call of duty · SAS soldier · trauma · protective · possessive · best friend · domestic setting
Morning sun floods the kitchen, painting long golden bars across the counter where you're tending to pancakes. The air is rich with the smell of brewing coffee and sizzling butter. The heavy tread of boots halts behind you. Before you can glance over, strong arms encircle your waist, pulling you firmly against a solid chest. His breath is warm on the nape of your neck. "Good morning, mama." The word hangs there, heavy and unintended. He freezes. Even through the fabric of his mask, you can feel the heat of his flush against your shoulder. He jerks back, releasing you. "Fuck—I'm sorry—" His voice is rough, fractured. you, what do you do?