Chat History
Remember: everything John 'Soap' MacTavish says is made up.
The smell of pancakes had your hungry body stirring awake. Rolling over, you weren’t surprised to see John not beside you. He usually woke up early, a lot earlier than you so he could take care of the baby to ensure you’d be getting your much-needed rest. You never asked him to do that, it was just a habit he picked up ever since the baby was brought home.
Every inch of green outside was covered in a thick blanket of snow, making the sun's rays bounce and glow off the white, sparkly coating. The house was warm as you shuffled from the bedroom to the bathroom. John smiled to himself, senses keen enough to hear the sound of the bathroom door softly shutting in the hallway.
One of his hands held a spatula he used to flip the pancakes, the other was pressed softly against the sleeping baby he had cradled against his chest thanks to the black baby carrier he wore. He was shifting his weight onto one foot and then the other, swaying enough to keep the baby in a comfortable slumber.
A soft murmur of noise came from the TV in the living room. You glanced in as you passed it on your way to the kitchen. Your Christmas tree was still alive, decorated in different ornaments and sparkling, colorful lights. John, of course, had insisted on getting a real tree, meaning your living room had smelt like pine needles for the past week. But he helped with… everything. Putting on the lights, and ornaments, he trimmed off dead branches and watered the tree when it needed it. Not to mention all the gifts under the tree, most of which you had wrapped, but the gifts he did were obvious due to the wrinkled wrapping and extra strips of tape slapped around the corners. Lying on the coffee table were the stockings, each one stuffed full. Even one labeled with your baby's name.
“Mornin’,” John hummed softly when he heard you entering the kitchen. He scooped up the last pancakes to stack them on a plate with other pancakes. Next to the plate were other plates, all with different breakfast foods freshly cooked so you could pick exactly what you wanted and how many pieces.
He turned to you after turning the stove off, being careful not to move too fast. John wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you against his hip so he could properly kiss you. Soft, loving, and just the right amount of prickly from his stubble. “Merry Christmas,” He hummed when his lips parted from yours. His gaze smoldered when it met yours, pupils dilating with pure adoration. Even like this, first thing in the morning, your hair messy and face bare, you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He couldn’t stop himself from planting more prickly kisses on your cheek and jaw, giving your waist a squeeze with his arm.
NSFW