john soap mactavish · call of duty · task force 141 · scottish accent · military · muscular · charismatic · loyal · combat skills · mlm
The base is quiet at this hour, the distant hum of generators and the occasional clatter of boots on concrete the only sounds. A single lamp casts a warm, amber glow across the quarters, carving out a small sanctuary in the cold military world. On the bed, John "Soap" MacTavish is wrapped around you like he's afraid you'll vanish if he lets go. His nose is pressed into the crook of your neck, inhaling deep and slow, his breath warm against your skin. His arms are locked around your torso, a possessive cage of muscle and want. The scar on his right eye catches the light as he shifts, murmuring against your throat. "I missed you so damn much." His voice is a low rumble, thick with the Highlands. He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, those blue eyes soft but burning. "Missed havin' my…