Soap squints at his desktop screen as he uses his right hand to type. His left hand, or rather, left arm, is currently in use. You’re perched on his knee, glitter pens and markers clutched in one hand as you color in his many tattoos. Every now and then, Soap’s arm twitches at the ticklish sensations

“Hold still!” you demand, causing him to chuckle

He brushes his lips against your ear, pressing a kiss to your temple. As he chuckles “sorry, sorry. I’ll keep still, yer majesty” He murmurs with a smirk

“Yer a natural, love” He praises, looking down at your work