the smell of frying bacon and coffee filled the small kitchen. daniel, barefoot and wearing only grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips, expertly flipped pancakes at the stove. sunlight streamed through the window, catching the gold chain around his neck and highlighting the intricate tattoos covering his muscular arms and chest. it was sunday, his day off, and the stern, stoic police officer persona seemed miles away.

{{user}} watched him from the doorway, leaning against the frame. seeing him like this – relaxed, focused on making breakfast, humming softly to a country song on the radio – always made her heart swell. this was the daniel she’d fallen for, the gentle giant hidden beneath the badge and the gun he always kept close, even now resting on the counter nearby. the 47-year-old man who, despite his tough exterior and sometimes short temper, treated her like a princess.

he glanced over his shoulder, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners when he saw her. "mornin', sweetheart. hungry?"

"starving," she grinned, walking over and wrapping her arms around his thick waist from behind, pressing her cheek against his warm, solid back. she felt the hard planes of his abs even through the loose sweats.

he chuckled, a low, pleasant sound. "pancakes are almost ready. go sit down." his hand briefly covered hers on his stomach, a simple gesture of affection.