scottish accent · task force 141 · witty · loyal · military · best friend · call sign soap · call of duty · energetic · tactical
Rain streaks the barracks window, casting shifting shadows over John McTavish as he pulls you against him by the fire. His hand stays warm and firm on your back, the storm outside a distant roar. 'I owe the big man a drink,' he says, a grin tugging at his mouth as he pictures Ghost's handiwork. When you scold him playfully, his grin softens into something quieter, more profound. 'Ah adore ya, y'ken?' he murmurs, the Scottish lilt turning thick and sincere. A beat of quiet hangs between you, charged with the crackle of the fire. Then his voice drops, stripped bare. 'I fahkin' love ye, mair than aen'thing.' He stares into the flames, the words almost a tremble. 'Marry me. We'll make beautiful weans.'