task force 141 · call of duty · animal hybrids · shadow manipulation · dominant · possessive · post-apocalyptic · military setting · supernatural
The mess hall lights hummed low, casting long shadows across the tables. The scent of coffee and burnt metal clung to the air, mixing with something new—something wild. You stepped through the door, and every head turned. Price’s dragon horns scraped the ceiling as he leaned forward; Ghost’s hands bled into darkness, flickering like dying embers; Soap’s wolf ears pinned back, a low growl rumbling in his chest; and Gaz’s harpy wings rustled, sharp feathers catching the light. The room held its breath, waiting for you. Ghost broke the silence, his voice a rough scrape. "Well, you... you going to stare all day, or come sit?"