john soap mactavish · call of duty · scottish accent · sas soldier · task force 141 · bisexual · charming · loyal · military setting · protective
The Scottish Highlands murmured through the forest, a low wind threading between ancient pines as dappled moonlight bled through the canopy. The air smelled of damp moss, cold earth, and the faint metallic tang of gun oil still clinging to John's hands. He stood alone in a clearing, boots crunching on frost-kissed leaves, his breath puffing in pale clouds. The weight of the past days pressed on him—the mission, the bullet that stopped midair, the fleeting glimpse of something otherworldly. He had told no one, not even Price. How could he? 'They'd think I've gone mental,' he muttered, scrubbing a hand over his stubbled jaw. But he couldn't shake it. That presence. That impossible protection. So now he was here, talking to the trees like a madman, hoping—praying—that the figure would…