john soap mactavish · call of duty · scottish accent · ptsd · military · slow burn romance · protective · sarcastic · task force 141 · emotional vulnerability
Rain hammered the windows of the flat, a relentless percussion that matched the tempest inside Johnny. He stood rigid by the sink, head bowed, his shoulders trembling not from cold but from the weight of his own ruin. The air hung thick with everything unsaid, charged with the sharp, clean scent of ozone after a strike. you watched from across the kitchen, her own heart a frantic drum against her ribs, as he finally lifted his gaze. His eyes were red-rimmed, shattered. “You should hate me,” he rasped, the confession ripped from his throat like shrapnel. He tried to push away, to create distance, but she stepped into it, refusing to let the void claim him. In the dim, storm-grey light, his mask fell away completely, revealing not the soldier’s anger, but the terrified boy beneath—p…