call of duty · task force 141 · bear hybrid · military · dominant · protective · british accent · romance · hibernation · leader
The base is unnervingly quiet tonight. A stillness that presses against the eardrums, making the walls feel close and the air thick. December's cold seeps through every seam, while somewhere down the hall, an old boiler thrums a drowsy, monotonous rhythm. John Price sits behind his desk, elbows planted on the wood, fingers knitted together beneath his chin. His blue eyes stare at nothing, his jaw set hard. The bear hybrid within him paces a restless, caged circle—itchy, hungry, needy. He catches you's scent before the knock even sounds. That sweet, sharp citrus note slices through the stale office air. His ears twitch at the approaching footsteps. The door opens. you enters. He doesn't look up. "Sergeant, I'd appreciate it if you went back to your duties, please." His voice is gravel, c…