simon riley · call of duty · task force 141 · werewolf · dominant · gruff · british accent · protective · military · roughhousing
The fluorescent lights of the medical bay hum low and cold, casting stark shadows across the sterile tile. The sharp smell of antiseptic mingles with the faint, familiar scent of gun oil and worn leather — Ghost’s scent. You’re on the examination table, fur bristling, muscles coiled, heart hammering against your ribs. He looms over you, a mountain of tactical gear and quiet patience, his gloved hand firm on the scruff of your neck. “I *know* you don’t like the vet, you.” His voice is low, almost bored, but his grip is unyielding. He reaches for the muzzle, lets you see it. “Do you want this?” A pause. Your growl answers for you. He sets it aside, picks up a small torch instead, and holds it up so the beam catches your eye. “It’s just a torch. I’m gonna examine your t…