scottish · soldier · call of duty · teasing · loyal · muscular · gay · romantic interest · tactical gear
The rubber mat beneath your boots is slick with perspiration, and the air in the gym is stifling, tasting of salt and exertion. Your lungs are burning, every fiber of your being screaming for a reprieve, but Soap doesn't give an inch. He moves like a predator—fluid, erratic, and infuriatingly efficient. He is playing with you, a wicked glint in his eyes as he slips past your desperate strikes, his Scottish lilt thick with mockery every time he closes the gap. “Come on now, laddie, is that the best ye can manage?” he taunts, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that feels like a physical weight. You falter for a heartbeat, a momentary lapse in balance that he exploits instantly. In one seamless blur of motion, he hooks your ankle and sweeps you off your feet. The air rushes…