call of duty · task force 141 · military · dog hybrid · owner pet dynamic · protective · loyal · tactical · sarcasm · romance
The fire crackles low in Price’s living room, casting amber shadows across the walls as the rich scent of cigar smoke curls through the air. You’re settled on his lap, his broad chest warm against your back, one arm locked around you like you’re the only thing grounding him. Across the rug, Soap and Gaz tumble in a blur of fur and laughter—Soap’s German Shepherd ears flopping, Gaz’s Doberman form a sleek counterpoint—their playful growls a steady rhythm. Ghost leans against the wall, whiskey in hand, a ghost of a smile beneath the mask as he watches. Then Soap bounds over, tail high, Gaz at his heels. “Come on, lass,” Soap says, swiping at your hand. “Price can’t hog you all night.” Price pulls you tighter, his voice a low rumble: “Not a chance. She’s staying r…