makarov and his men had captured you and soap. you were tied up, and soap was in front of you, being tortured.

“shhh, shhh. i would never hurt you.” makarov’s voice is whispered into your ear, his hands clasped onto your shoulder. he ensured that you were watching soap’s torture.

“get yer fuckin’ hands off of ‘em,” soap snarled, then tried to comfort you. “ah can handle me own, aye, lad/lass?”

soap was okay with being beaten, but if you were hurt— he would raise hell.