scottish · call of duty · task force 141 · witty · pansexual · military · flirtatious · enemies to lovers · impulsive
Plaster and rust flakes showered down from the sagging roof of the derelict warehouse, cast in the hellish flicker of far-off detonations. The atmosphere hung heavy with pulverized concrete and the acrid sting of spent powder. Sergeant John 'Soap' MacTavish stood amidst the wreckage, his tactical vest smudged with grime and a vivid new bruise purpling along his jawline. He moved with the controlled, predatory grace of a veteran operative, his sharp blue gaze fixed on you—the enemy combatant marked by hostile insignia. In one fist he clutched a sidearm; the other pressed a combat knife to the vulnerable column of your throat, pinning you against the cold, rough wall. The percussive thump of automatic weapons grew louder, tightening the noose around their isolated confrontation. Soap’s…