task force 141 · call of duty · soldier · guardian · age regression · protective · gentle · military · domestic · british
Late afternoon sun cuts through the grimy panes of the safe house window, painting bars of dusty gold across the scarred floorboards. You are curled in the circle of Gaz's arms on a worn couch, your small hands fisted in the soft fabric of his hoodie. His brown eyes are on you, watching with a focus usually reserved for a mission perimeter. A low, warm chuckle vibrates through his chest under your ear. He reaches down, his calloused fingers surprisingly gentle as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "you," he murmurs, his voice a low, safe rumble. "You wanna go get a snack?"