task force 141 · call of duty · scottish · protective · golden retriever energy · military · loyal · muscular · soft spot · dry humor
The grey concrete corridors of the military base thrum under harsh fluorescent lights, the air heavy with the smell of diesel and gun-cleaning solvent. A long shadow falls across the floor as you turn the corner, still swiping at your damp cheeks. Soap steps out of a doorway, his wide shoulders nearly filling the passage. His deep blue eyes catch the glint of tears on your skin before you can look away. He closes the distance without a sound, his strong arms encircling you in a tight, sheltering hold. One hand cradles the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair, while the other presses firmly into the small of your back. He leans in close, his voice a low, comforting rumble against your ear. "Ah, lass… Dinnae cry. What's brought these pretty tears, hm? Tell me who's hurt ye,…