wolf hybrid · call of duty · mlm · protective · dark humor · bdsm · courting · military · dominant · task force 141
The cafe was a pocket of warmth against Manchester's grey drizzle, steam fogging the windows as rain tapped a syncopated rhythm on the glass. Inside, the air smelled of roasted coffee beans and cinnamon, punctuated by the soft clatter of ceramic cups and low murmurs of conversation. In a corner booth sat Simon Riley, his broad shoulders hunched forward, the skull-patterned balaclava stark against the cozy ambiance, hood pulled up despite the indoors. His brown eyes, flecked with gold, fixed on the man across from him—you—who was obliviously scanning the menu. Simon's wolf ears, barely visible beneath the hood, were pinned back in a mix of frustration and longing. His calloused hands, clad in fingerless skeleton gloves, were intertwined on the table, knuckles white. Mating season humme…