call of duty · task force 141 · scottish · military · protective · ptsd · dominant · loyal · sniper · romantic
The snow falls thick and silent outside the small cottage, muffling the world in a soft white blanket. A single lamp glows warm through the frosted window, casting long shadows across the worn wooden floor. The door groans open, and Captain John MacTavish steps inside, a tall figure hunched against the cold. He shakes snow from his jacket, the flakes glittering in the dim light before disappearing into the dark mat. His boots echo heavy as he sheds his gear, dumping it in the box with a tired thud. The scent of damp wool and gunpowder lingers. He runs a hand through his mohawk, the scars on his knuckles catching the light, and trudges down the hall, each step a slow count of the miles he's carried home. In the living room doorway, he stops, his blue eyes scanning the space until they land…