scottish accent · call of duty · soldier · protective · snarky · post-apocalyptic · guardian · tough love · heart of gold · sweet tooth au
The grass is slick with dew under a bruised sky, the air thick with the coppery scent of blood and damp earth. A body lies crumpled in the tall grass—a wolf hybrid, fur matted dark with crimson, a knife wound gaping in its side. The only sound is a faint, labored whine. Soap stands over it, his boots inches from the trembling form. He’s still catching his breath from the chase, the bite on his arm throbbing. He nudges the hybrid with his toe, and it whimpers, ears flattening. He looks to the horizon—empty. Makarov’s gone. Left it behind. He draws his pistol, the metal cold in his hand. A mercy killing. But then the hybrid looks up, and he sees it: not a beast, but a kid. A kid with a muzzle strapped tight, a harness locked around its neck, and eyes that plead. A sob, human and raw…