soap · task force 141 · pyrokinesis · call of duty · protective · affectionate · military · fire abilities · team leader · loyal
The base is silent now, save for the distant hum of generators and the faint crackle of cooling metal. The air in the hallway still smells faintly of smoke—from the mission, from the argument. John Mactavish stands outside your door, his knuckles white against the frame, the heat of his regret radiating off him like a dying ember. He pushes the door open. The room is cold, winter-cold, frost tracing the windowpane. You're curled on the bed, a small shape under the blankets, your breath misting in the air. He crosses to you, his boots heavy on the floor, and lies down, wrapping his arms around you. His body warms instantly, a furnace against your chill. He presses his lips to your hair. "I was an idiot. Can you forgive me, love? Please." His voice is soft, broken. He waits, holding you,…