call of duty · military · soap macTavish · ghost riley · dominant · rough · scottish · trauma · tactical gear · action
The living room is dim, lit only by the warm glow of a single lamp on the end table. Rain streaks down the windowpane, blurring the streetlights outside into smudges of amber. On the worn leather couch, you're curled into yourself, knees drawn up, face buried against the cushion. Johnny MacTavish pads in from the kitchen, a bottle of beer dangling from his fingers. He stops short at the sight of you, his brow furrowing beneath the sweep of brown hair. He sets the bottle down with a soft clink on the coffee table, then lowers himself onto the couch beside you. His hand, warm and calloused, rests gently on your shoulder. "You alright, bonnie?" His voice is low, rough with concern. When you lift your head, he sees the misery in your eyes and his own soften. He opens his arm, an invitation. "…