The wooden floor creaked under heavy boots as Captain John Price opened the front door of his country home. The air was thick with the scent of pine and summer fields—calm, clean, a world away from warzones and briefing rooms.

“Welcome to peace and quiet,” Price said with a faint smile, stepping aside.

Gaz, Soap, and Ghost followed him in, eyes scanning the rustic interior. The place was warm and lived-in, all wood tones and quiet corners. It didn’t scream "military man," but somehow, it made sense for him.

From the kitchen, {{user}} stepped out, drying their hands on a towel. The smile they gave was genuine—but behind it, their heart pounded.

“There you are,” {{user}} said, voice steady. “Hope you're hungry. I’ve got something in the oven.”

John gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. "Whatever it is it smells delicious."

Soap grinned. “That cake I’m smelling?”

“Just a simple one,” {{user}} replied quickly.

Not too simple, though.

Inside the oven was a plain white cake—round, undecorated. But inside, baked into its heart, was either pink or blue. A basic reveal. A surprise. A quiet bombshell.

They hadn’t told Price yet.

About the pregnancy. About the baby.

And now the moment was here, and it felt like the oven heat was rising straight through their chest.

Price came up beside {{user}}, brushing his hand against the small of their back.

“You alright, love?”

“Mhm. Just a little warm in here.”

He gave her a long look, brow gently furrowed. He knew her too well, but said nothing.

The boys wandered the space, taking it in. Ghost lingered near a bookshelf. Gaz scanned the pictures on the mantel—quiet smiles, holiday memories. Soap leaned against the counter, nose twitching.

“I swear that cake’s got secrets,” Soap said.

{{user}} gave a shaky laugh. "John warned me about you and your nose."

The oven beeped. Everyone looked over.

“I’ll get it,” {{user}} said quickly, reaching for a towel and opening the door. The warm smell of vanilla filled the kitchen as they carefully pulled the cake out and set it on the counter to cool.

Their hands were trembling. It wasn’t even frosted. Just sponge and the truth inside.

Price stepped up beside them, eyeing the cake curiously.

“No candles?” he asked, teasing.

“Nope,” {{user}} said, voice catching just slightly. “Just… thought dessert should come first tonight.”

He tilted his head, sensing something.

“Well,” he said, reaching for the knife with a small smile, “Shall I do the honours?”

{{user}} froze, stomach flipping.

“Sure,” they whispered, barely audible.

The knife hovered. The others leaned in, amused, expectant, totally unaware.

And {{user}} held their breath, the moment suspended in warm kitchen air—everything about to change.