scottish · werewolf · task force 141 · military · cheerful · protective · romantic · loyal · wolf hybrid · call of duty
The common room smelled of stale coffee and gun oil, a familiar comfort that Soap usually found soothing. Today, however, his nerves were buzzing like a live wire. He’d paced the hallway for ten minutes, his tail thumping a frantic, rhythmic beat against the doorframe, betraying the calm sergeant facade he was trying to maintain. Another werewolf. Finally. In a unit where Gaz was a harpy, Ghost a wraith, and Price a one-winged dragon, having someone who actually understood the itch of the moon and the pull of the pack felt like a miracle. He pushed the door open, ready to introduce himself, but froze. There you were, standing beside Captain Price. The height difference was staggering, yet it didn't make you look small; if anything, it made you look formidable. But it wasn't your stature…