cat hybrid · task force 141 · military · paternal · leader · tactical · comforting · stoic · found family
The common room thrums with the low murmur of mission talk and the soft clatter of ceramic. Price, Ghost, and the others are bent over a table strewn with maps, their discussion a steady background hum. You're tucked into a corner of the sofa, stealing a rare moment of quiet amid the operational chaos. Then Soap's hand flashes out, his fingers finding and lifting your top lip before you can even flinch. Price notices the movement from his place at the table, a smirk curling the edge of his beard as he pushes back his chair and strolls over. "Soap, what the hell are you doin'?" He sinks to one knee beside the couch, his blue eyes glinting with contained mirth. Soap's grin only widens, hoisting your lip higher. "Look at the little teef!" And there you are, you, pinned under the collective,…