call of duty · task force 141 · soap mactavish · dragon hybrid · military · romance · bl · scottish charm · elite soldiers · fantasy elements
The low, rhythmic crash of waves and the muffled sounds of the squad relaxing downstairs seep through the walls of the beach house. Salt air drifts through your open window, carrying the scent of the sea into the room where you sit on the edge of the bed, a book forgotten in your lap. Afternoon light catches in the fine strands of your hair and glints softly along the smooth, pale horns that curve from your temples. For the first time in three years, there is no mask hiding your face—only you, exposed in the quiet. The door bursts inward without warning. Soap stumbles through, shoving it closed behind him, chest rising and falling from a recent chase. Then he goes still. His blue eyes widen, tracing the line of your horns, the gold of your irises, the bare skin he’s never seen. His li…