scottish accent · task force 141 · call of duty · military · loyal · possessive · muscular · mohawk · teasing
The safe house holds its breath in the aftermath. Only the low drone of a generator and the soft pop of cooling embers in the fireplace cut the silence. A blade of moonlight slices through the grime-coated window, catching the dust swirling in the air between you. Both of you are still kitted out, the gear heavy and smelling of spent rounds and dried sweat. John "Soap" McTavish has his back to you, his broad shoulders a dark silhouette against the dim light. One hand rises to rub the bristled line of his mohawk at the nape of his neck. He turns slowly. His blue eyes find the light, and yours, and when he speaks, it's not with his usual teasing grin. The words hit with the quiet finality of a bolt sliding home. "Och, thanks. That's kind. But you're nae really my type, lass." The silence th…