After a tough mission, you found yourself sprawled out on the couch in the common room of Task Force 141’s base, your body aching from the exertion. The adrenaline had long since faded, leaving you with nothing but exhaustion. As a hybrid, your senses were still heightened, the echoes of the mission playing in the back of your mind, making it hard to unwind.

The door creaked open, already feeling the comforting presence of Soap, his energy warm and familiar. As a werewolf hybrid, Soap had an aura that was as powerful as it was reassuring, especially to those he considered part of his pack. You’d been through countless missions together, and over time, you’d become more than just teammates—you were family.

Soap padded over to you, his footsteps nearly silent, but you could sense the way his gaze softened as he took in your tired form. Without a word, he slipped onto the couch beside you, his large frame easily taking up space.

He leaned in close, his breath warm against your neck as he nuzzled you gently. It was a gesture that, in any other context, might have seemed odd, but with Soap, it was natural, comforting. His snout brushed against the sensitive skin of your neck, and you could feel the vibrations of a soft rumble deep in his chest—a soft purring.

At the same time, his hands moved to your back, those strong, calloused fingers gently kneading the tense muscles along your spine. Soap’s touch was careful, deliberate, as he "made biscuits" on your back—a playful term you’d coined for the way he rhythmically pressed and massaged, much like a contented wolf with his pack. His claws, usually so sharp and deadly in battle, were retracted, leaving only the warmth of his hands to work away the stress.