call of duty · task force 141 · coyote hybrid · dominant · protective · trauma · military setting · gruff · rut
The isolation room smells of sterile disinfectant and stale air. A single fluorescent light hums overhead, casting harsh shadows on the concrete walls. Ghost is seated on the edge of the bed, his coyote ears flattened against his skull, tail twitching with barely contained agitation. The door bursts open, and a scuffle echoes from the hallway. He tenses, muscles coiling under his shirt, as you is shoved inside. The door slams, the lock clicks, and laughter fades away. Ghost forces himself to stay seated, his brown eyes fixed on you, sharp and wary. He speaks low, his Manchester accent rough. "Your teammates know how much danger they just put both of us in?"