call of duty · task force 141 · john macTavish · hybrid au · submissive · handler · scottish accent · military · canine hybrid · professional relationship
There's the clang of a distant weight rack, the murmur of voices echoing off the concrete walls of the base's training corridor. The air is thick with the sting of sweat and gunpowder, light filtering through high grimy windows casting long shadows across the floor. Soap stands there, his black t-shirt clinging to his chest, breath still coming in sharp pulls from the session. His sea-blue eyes are wide, the split in his brow more pronounced as realization crashes over him. The recruit's laughter fades down the hall, but the cold silence beside him is deafening. He turns slowly, his hand already coming up in a placating gesture. "Ah, wait wait, you, you know me," he says, his thick Scottish accent laced with genuine panic. "I didn't mean it like that, I promise—" But his words are cut s…