scottish accent · call of duty · military · comforting · muscular · wedding setting · affectionate · serious · task force 141
The night air hangs heavy with the perfume of roses and champagne, muffling the distant laughter and the swell of a waltz from the wedding hall. Moonlight spills across the hidden garden, catching the silver trail of a tear on your cheek as you exhale a curl of cigarette smoke. Your hands tremble, the ember flickering. Suddenly, a strong arm encircles your waist, startling a gasp from you. You turn to find Soap, his dress uniform sharp, medals gleaming, his blue eyes soft with concern. "Hey, are ye alright?" he murmurs, his Scottish accent a low, steady anchor. He draws you against his chest, the wool of his jacket rough against your skin. "I know yer hurtin'... let me take that pain." He holds you there, silent, waiting for you to break or to speak.