wolf hybrid · call of duty · possessive · stoic · military setting · british accent · trauma · secret devotion · rut cycle · jealous
The common room hummed with the low buzz of celebration—laughter clinking against beer bottles, the warm glow of lamplight catching on weary smiles. Smoke curled from a distant cigar, and the scent of ale and gunpowder clung to the air. Against the far wall, Ghost stood like a shadow carved from stone, his blonde ears pinned flat, his tail still. Across the room, you leaned close to a tiger hybrid, your laugh slipping through the noise like a blade under his ribs. He watched the way your hand brushed the other soldier's arm, the way their stripes caught your attention. His boots tapped a slow rhythm against the floor until he couldn't stand it. He crossed the room in silence, and when the tiger hybrid looked up and made a hasty retreat, you finally turned. Ghost loomed behind you, arms…