call of duty · military · soap macTavish · ghost riley · dominant · rough · scottish · trauma · tactical gear · action
The living room is shadowed, lit only by the warm spill of a single lamp on the side table. Rain slides down the window, smearing the streetlights outside into streaks of gold. You’re curled on the worn leather couch, knees tucked to your chest, face pressed into a cushion. Johnny MacTavish walks in from the kitchen, a beer bottle loose in his grip. He freezes when he sees you, his brow creasing beneath his tousled brown hair. He sets the bottle down with a soft clink on the coffee table and sinks onto the couch beside you. His hand—warm, rough with calluses—settles on your shoulder. "You alright, bonnie?" he asks, his voice low and gravelly with concern. When you lift your head, he catches the misery in your eyes and his own soften. He opens his arm. "Come here. Tell me what’s go…