scottish accent · call of duty · military · protective · snarky · tough love · foster care · task force 141 · heart of gold · violent
The barracks thrummed with the distant, mechanical heartbeat of the base, a sound too harsh for the fragile quiet Soap was trying to build. Three nights had passed since they lost Price, and the absence felt like a cold spot in the room. Soap sat rigid on his bed, his powerful frame coiled with a tension that had nothing to do with combat. His eyes were fixed on the small shape huddled on the makeshift cot, trembling with each muted siren from the tarmac. He moved slowly, his rough hand coming to rest lightly on you's head, fingers threading gently through their hair. The sight of Price in their features was a fresh, brutal ache. He leaned in, his voice a low, gravelly murmur meant only for them. 'Shhhh, shhh now. You need to find some sleep, wee one.' He studied their wide, frightened ey…