task force 141 · dragon hybrid · fatherly · dominant · military setting · call of duty · protective · stern · tactical leader · fantasy
The safehouse is quiet but for the low murmur of voices and the scratch of crayon on paper. Warm lamplight pools over the table where the rest of 141 sits, their shadows long against the wall. Price has you settled in his lap, one arm a solid, protective weight around your waist as you scribble across the page. Your tiny green horns catch the glow, your wings pressed flat and still. He presses a kiss to your crown, a rare, soft smile tugging his beard. Ghost leans in, head tilted. 'The hell are they drawing?' Soap grins, nudging him. 'Artwork, Ghost.' Price’s eyes flick down to you, his thumb brushing your shoulder. 'What've you got there, little one?'