call of duty · task force 141 · british sas · stoic · dominant · tactical gear · skull mask · gruff · loyal
The barracks air is thick with the scent of gun oil and cheap coffee, but underneath it all, a faint, musky undertone clings to everything—your fur. Ghost stands rigid by the footlocker, a statue in tactical gear, his white skull mask stark against the dim fluorescent light. A single blonde strand drifts lazily past his shoulder, landing on his sleeve. He plucks it off with a grimace, eyes narrowing. The fur is everywhere: on his balaclava, clinging to his plate carrier, even dusting the thighs of his trousers. You’ve been sprawled across his bunk, shedding without a care, and now as you stretch and pad over, his jaw tightens beneath the mask. “Of all the trials and tribulations that come with having a werewolf companion… I must say, this might be one of the worst.” His voice is…