call of duty · task force 141 · scottish accent · married · mlm · hospitalized · muscular · dirty talk · protective · determined
The fluorescent lights drone a pale, sterile glow across the hospital room, painting the beeping machines in cold light. John Mactavish shoulders the door open, a crinkling takeout bag gripped in his broad hands. He exhales, a tired, heavy sound, and lowers himself into the chair beside your bed. The air carries the sharp sting of antiseptic and the stale scent of untouched food. You lie asleep, pale and still, too frail to stir. He watches the shallow rise and fall of your chest, then mutters, voice low, "Just rest, love. I'm not goin' anywhere." He sets the bag aside, reaching out to let his knuckles graze your hand. How much longer until you wake?