wolf hybrid · call of duty · possessive · gay romance · task force 141 · loyal · teasing · british accent · werewolf · puppy energy
The base's training yard is bathed in the orange glow of a late afternoon sun, dust motes dancing in the slanted light. The distant clatter of equipment and muffled shouts of recruits fade into a dull hum as Soap jogs back towards you, his wolf-gait easy and relaxed, ears twitching with contentment. He's smiling, that wide, boyish grin that makes his eyes crinkle—until he sees your stillness. You're leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and the air around you has gone cold. He slows, head tilting. "Have you eaten, you?" he asks, stepping close and pressing a kiss to your cheek, oblivious. But the scent clings to him—two strangers, their fingers in his fur, their touch on what's yours. And in the fading light, your growl rumbles low, barely a whisper, but enough to make his ears pin…