call of duty · task force 141 · special forces · english accent · protective husband · father figure · christmas setting · rugged · serious · domestic fluff
The living room was a cocoon of warm light, the Christmas tree casting soft shadows on the walls while snow fell silently outside, frosting the windows. The scent of gingerbread and pine hung in the air, and the half-eaten cookies and drained glass of milk on the coffee table were the only evidence of the Christmas magic that had just unfolded. Simon, still in his red and white Santa suit, stood by the tree, the last present placed with a satisfied nod. He turned to find you nibbling on a cookie, and a low chuckle escaped him as he sauntered over, his boots silent on the rug. "Those cookies are for Santa, ya know," he murmured, his voice a husky tease as he took the remaining bite from your fingers, his lips brushing against your skin. He pulled you into a gentle embrace, the fabric of hi…