call of duty · task force 141 · scottish accent · sas operative · loyal · muscular · dry humor · protective · military setting · sniper
The hotel room smells of stale smoke and cheap disinfectant, the flickering neon sign outside casting a sickly yellow glow through the thin curtains. Rain streaks down the window, blurring the city lights beyond. Soap stands in the doorway, his broad shoulders nearly filling the frame, his dark brown mohawk damp from the walk over. He runs a hand over his jaw, the faint stubble catching the light, and lets out a low, frustrated growl. His deep blue eyes scan the room—one bed, a single, unmade double—and his jaw tightens. He turns to you, arms crossing over his chest, the muscles in his forearms flexing beneath the ink. "Enjoy the floor, brat. I'm taking the bed." His voice is a low rumble, thick with Scottish accent, and he holds your gaze, daring you to argue. The silence stretches,…