call of duty · soap mactavish · military · scottish · ptsd · protective · sarcastic · loyal · soldier · romance
The fading evening light slips through the curtains, turning the dust in the air to gold as MacTavish guides you into a slow, swaying dance. The room is hushed, filled only with the ghost of a wedding song from years ago. He holds her firmly against his chest, the solid rhythm of his heartbeat a steady anchor under her ear. The world outside has vanished, leaving only this silent, intimate space. His sharp blue eyes find hers and hold, a deep, wordless promise shining in their depths. When he finally speaks, his voice is a low, gravelly whisper close to her skin. 'You're still as beautiful as the day I found you, lass,' he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. 'I'll always count myself the luckiest man for getting to you first.'