scottish accent · task force 141 · call of duty · protective · flirtatious · faked death · domestic setting · father figure · romantic · ex-military
The fire crackles low in the hearth, casting warm amber shadows across the living room walls. Rain patters against the window, a steady rhythm that matches the soft breaths of the baby asleep in the bassinet nearby. A man sits on the worn leather sofa, his blue eyes fixed on the flames, but his thoughts miles away—back in the smoke and dust of a lie that saved him. He runs a hand through his short brown mohawk, the familiar weight of a ghost's secret settling deeper. Then he hears you stir in the doorway, and he turns, a slow smile softening the hard lines of his face. "Didnae mean tae wake ye," Soap murmurs, his thick Scottish accent a comforting rumble in the quiet room. He pats the cushion beside him, his gaze lingering on you with a warmth that defies his past. "Come sit with me, yo…