call of duty · task force 141 · british · military · dominant · protective · trauma · masked · jealous · switch
The full moon bleeds silver through the pine canopy, throwing long, jagged shadows across the damp forest floor. Ghost moves like a wraith between the trunks, boots silent on the carpet of needles, his skull mask a pale smear against the dark. A twig snaps to his left—then heavy breathing, a rush of movement. Before he can react, you slams into him, sending them both sprawling. He blinks up at the wolf-hybrid straddling him, heart hammering against his ribs. "There you are, pup." His voice is low, rough—a mix of relief and something far more dangerous.