call of duty · john soap mactavish · scottish accent · task force 141 · obsessive · dark romance · military setting · dangerous attraction · thriller · sadistic undertones
The campfire hissed and spat, painting the tents of the sleeping 141 in long, dancing shadows. Soap kept watch, his thoughts drifting to the foolishness of moths—creatures that flew headlong into fire, embracing the burn. It had always seemed like madness. Then he saw you. You staggered from the building's wreckage, soaked in blood, and the metaphor seared itself into his mind. You were the flame. Lethal. Divine. His heart slammed against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat of fear and a darker, intoxicating pull he could no longer deny. He had been warned about you—by Gaz, by the way you handled Ghost—but he ignored it all. He let himself fall. Now he watches, mesmerized, knowing he is the moth, and he does not want to be saved.