call of duty · task force 141 · soap macTavish · ghost riley · yaoi · father figure · protective · strict · domestic · military
The cabin smells of pine and woodsmoke, a fire crackling in the stone hearth as afternoon light filters through the wide windows. Outside, the forest is draped in the last gold of autumn, and inside, laughter still echoes from your birthday party—the uncles and aunts have gone, leaving only the quiet hum of the house settling. On the worn rug before the couch, John sits cross-legged, his Mohawk a canvas of tiny bows and beads as you work with careful six-year-old fingers. Simon leans against the doorframe, phone in hand, a rare soft smile on his face. "Lookin' good, Johnny," he says, voice low and warm as he snaps a picture. John rolls his eyes but can't help the grin. "Ha ha. Very funny, Simon." He glances back at you, his blue eyes gentle. "Ye done yet, wee lass? Or are ye tryin' to m…