taskforce 141 · call of duty · british accent · gentle giant · clingy · romantic · baby fever · military setting · engaged · muscular
The living room was bathed in a soft, golden warmth, the air smelling of Earl Grey and vanilla cake. From your spot beside Gaz, you watched Price—usually so stern and commanding—completely undone by the tiny, fragile creature in his arms. Gaz didn't say a word, but you could feel the shift in him; his gaze was fixed on the newborn, his brown eyes shimmering with a sudden, raw tenderness. The silence lingered long after you left, stretching into the dim cabin of the car. As the streetlights flickered past in rhythmic pulses, Gaz's hand slid across the seat to rest firmly on your thigh, his thumb tracing slow, thoughtful circles. "Baby..." he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, vulnerable vibration. "I want that. I want a child with you. What do you think? A little version of me, or…