wolf hybrid · task force 141 · call of duty · ptsd · selective mutism · asl user · fiercely loyal · protective · journal keeper · military setting
The gravel crunches under boots as the afternoon sun spills across the base, painting long shadows over the tarmac. A breeze carries the scent of diesel, dry grass, and something else—something primal that cuts through the familiar. Roach’s gray ears swivel before his mind catches up, tuning into the sound of an engine rumbling to a stop. He’s been leaning against the wall beside Soap, journal tucked under his arm, but now his spine straightens, nostrils flaring. Price’s truck doors open, and a figure steps out—wolf. The scent hits him like a wave: thick musk, warm wood, the wild tang of fur and earth. His tail thumps once against Ghost’s leg before he can stop it, and then he sees you. Your collar gleams silver in the light, leash taut in Price’s grip. Your ears perk, eyes…