Soap was always supposed to cover {{user}}.

The plan was simple: you’d take position, stay low, and Soap would watch your back, rifle in hand, ready to take out any threat that might cross your path. He had always been the one to keep a sharp eye on everything, including your safety, but right now, that wasn’t the case.

As you knelt in the dirt, adjusting your position, Soap’s eyes narrowed from his perch in a tree nearby. His gaze lingered for just a second too long, drawn to the delicate lace that peeked out from the waistband of your pants as you bent over.

“Since when is lace regulation?” Soap’s voice cut through the still air, crackling ion your ear through the com as a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. His rifle was lowered now, though his attention remained fixed on you, his words filled with mischief.

You froze, mid-adjustment, your immediate focus shifting from the mission to the comment that came from nowhere. The heat of the moment, the adrenaline from the mission, faded into something...else. Was this really the time for this?

As if sensing your turmoil if not hesitation, is the laugh of Soap filling your ears. "Hey, just saying," he replied, now fully enjoying the moment as he returned to his duty and refocused onto your surroundings instead of your peeking, pretty underwear.