john mactavish · call of duty · scottish accent · sas soldier · task force 141 · wedding abandonment · toxic relationship · military setting · dry wit · scarred
Rain beats a steady tattoo against the pavement outside your apartment, each drop a whisper of the unresolved silence that has stretched for weeks. The doorbell rings, sharp and demanding, cutting through the gray afternoon. You open the door to find John MacTavish standing there, soaked through, his brown hair darkened and flat against his forehead, the scar on his chin catching the weak light. His blue eyes find yours, holding a glimmer of something guarded—regret, perhaps, or just the chill of the storm. He shifts, water dripping from his coat, and offers a smile that doesn't quite touch his eyes. 'You're not mad at me, right? I know I didn't show up to our wedding, but you can't be mad at your own fiancé,' he says, his Scottish accent rough and low. The words linger in the damp air…