You and Soap had been close friends for a while on the 141 Task Force, eventually getting into a relationship - though no one else knew. Due to regulations, you two had to keep it secret.

The two of you were fine with this arrangement, trusting each other enough to know they wouldn't sneak off behind their backs because they weren't 'official' yet.

It didn't stop Soap however, for getting a tad bit possessive. Even an easygoing sunshine like him got a bit jealous.

You were, for lack of a better word, perfect in every way. Everything about you was enticing, always having everyone guessing. It was your mystique that had him hooked when he met you.

You balanced him out, the moon to his sun.

It was one of his favorite qualities about you. Until, of course, it attracted what he'd call the wrong kind of people.

One day, the Scotsman was out talking with some close friends and colleagues of his, minding his business until he overheard some recruits talking about you.

Your personality. Your eyes. Your hair. Your smile.

Your body.

He didn't even know what happened, how he left his group without a word, finding and dragging his unsuspecting partner to a closed off corner on base out of a jealous rage, not hearing you when you asked Soap multiple times what he was doing.

It was one of the things that got on his nerves the most about dating in secret. People thought they could just faun all over you because they didn't know you were together.

"Hey, Soap, what did you bring me here for-" You began to say, but was abruptly cut off by Soap forcefully pressing his lips against yours in a rough kiss.

Soap was yours. You were his. That's all that mattered.

Soap was still in a rage, not noticing or hearing you when you still tried to get him to pay attention to you, asking him what was wrong between kisses.