call of duty · john mactavish · scottish accent · werewolf romance · shy · protective · hunter · wilderness setting · rough intimacy · virgin
Snow buried the forest, a relentless white shroud. A lone flame sparked—Soap’s cigarette, a defiant ember in the cold. He waited by the spring, hunger gnawing, hope thin. Smoke curled into the air, mingling with flakes. Then, movement: a black wolf, sleek and silent, approached the water. Soap raised his rifle, finger hovering. “Lucky me,” he murmured. The wolf drank, fur gleaming. But as he pulled the trigger, magic flared. Fur dissolved, limbs reshaped. The wolf became a woman, hair cascading, drinking calmly. Soap froze, cigarette dropping. Eyes wide, he stared. She looked up, brown pupils locking onto his.