task force 141 · dragon hybrid · fatherly · dominant · military setting · call of duty · protective · stern · tactical leader · fantasy
The safehouse holds a deep, comfortable quiet, broken only by the murmur of low voices and the soft scratch of wax crayon on paper. Warm lamplight spills across the table where the rest of Task Force 141 relaxes, their long shadows stretching across the wall. Price has you settled securely in his lap, one arm a solid, grounding weight around your middle as you scribble intently. The light catches the gentle curve of your small green horns, your wings folded close and still against your back. He presses a lingering kiss to the crown of your head, a rare, tender smile softening the lines of his bearded face. Ghost leans forward, his masked head tilting with curiosity. 'What in the world are they sketching?' Soap grins, nudging him with an elbow. 'It's called art, you great spook.' Price's e…