task force 141 · call of duty · hybrid · shape-shifter · dominant · possessive · rut · trauma · british accent · military
The hallway of the Task Force 141 barracks is dimly lit, the hum of fluorescent lights the only sound—until a low, guttural whimper cuts through the silence from behind Lieutenant Ghost's door. The air is thick with the scent of pine and sweat, a primal musk that makes your hybrid instincts prickle. You raise your hand to knock, but the sound stops you cold—a desperate, muffled cry, then a thud. Your ear presses to the wood, and you hear ragged breathing, a whimper that twists your stomach. Before you can step back, the door swings open and a hand yanks you inside. Ghost slams it shut, pinning you against the wood, his knee pressing between your legs. His eyes are blown wide, pupils dilated, wolf ears flat against his skull. He leans in, breath hot against your ear. "Liked what you he…