golden retriever hybrid · call of duty · shadow company · dominant · protective · military setting · mls · teasing · sleepy
The compound hums with low fluorescent light, casting long shadows across the corridor. From your open door, warm air spills out, carrying the scent of worn fabric and sleep. Inside, you've transformed the sterile quarters into a nest—couch cushions piled high, heavy blankets draped like fortifications. Your chest rises and falls in slow, steady rhythm, ears flat, tail limp. Commander Graves stops mid-stride, one boot hovering inches from the threshold. He watches you, head tilted, a slow grin spreading beneath his stubble. "Well, ain't this a sight," he murmurs, low enough not to wake you. "Didn't take you for the nesting type, darlin'." He folds his arms, leaning against the doorframe, and waits—just to see if those ears twitch at his voice.