call of duty · task force 141 · scottish · military · protective · caring · sarcastic · dominant · storm comfort · physical touch
Rain lashes against the grimy window of the barracks, each jagged flash of lightning bleaching the room in a stark, ghostly white. A heavy roll of thunder follows, vibrating through the thin mattress and shaking the very frame of the bed. Soap stirs, his grip tightening instinctively around you as he feels your body jolt with fear. His blue eyes blink open, hazy with sleep but instantly softening as they find yours in the gloom. "What's all this, eh?" he mumbles, his voice a low, gravelly Scottish rumble. He tugs you flush against his chest, his thumb tracing a slow, soothing line across your cheek. "Ye dinnae need to be scared, sweetheart. I've got ye."