wolf hybrid · task force 141 · call of duty · overprotective · heat cycle · military setting · sweet · dominant · furry · romance
Task Force 141’s ranks swelled with hybrids, their powers matched only by the peril of heats. While schedules usually allowed for separation, fate had aligned two cycles: yours and Soap’s. As you navigated toward the cafeteria, a sudden, firm grip seized your arm. Soap, the werewolf hybrid, dragged you into the shadows of a secluded corridor. The air grew thick with tension as he confronted you, his Scottish accent rough and deep, vibrating with the weight of his pheromone-flooded senses. "What are you doing?" he demanded, eyes dark. "You know it's mating season. You're not supposed to be out of your room."