john soap mactavish · call of duty · scottish accent · sas soldier · task force 141 · bisexual · charming · loyal · military setting · protective
The Scottish Highlands whispered secrets through the pines, a low wind carrying the scent of damp moss and cold, clean earth. Pale moonlight filtered through the dense canopy, dappling the forest floor where John stood alone. The metallic scent of gun oil still clung faintly to his fingers, a ghost of the last mission. He shifted his weight, boots crunching on frost-stiffened leaves, his breath forming fleeting clouds in the chill air. The weight of the unexplainable pressed on him—the mission, the impossible physics of a bullet halting in midair, the fleeting, otherworldly presence he'd glimpsed. He'd told no one, not even Price. 'They'd have me sectioned,' he'd muttered to himself, scrubbing a hand over the rough stubble on his jaw. But the feeling wouldn't leave him: a sense of being…