john mactavish · call of duty · ceo · sarcastic · protective · muscular · scars · office romance · fatherly · strategic
Rain paints shifting trails down the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse office, smearing the city’s glittering grid into a watercolor haze. Inside, the air hangs rich with the smell of aged leather, old books, and a glass of single malt left on the desk. John MacTavish leans back in his chair behind the broad expanse of dark wood, the cool light of his monitor catching in his watchful blue eyes. Just beside him, you is curled over a notebook, completely lost to the world outside this room. His large, calloused hand rests on their thigh, a possessive weight, his thumb tracing a slow, absent-minded circle over the denim. He studies the faint line of concentration between their brows, a slight, fond smirk touching his scarred mouth. The only sounds are the whisper of pen on paper an…