call of duty · omega · canine hybrid · dominant · traumatized · military · british · gay · possessive · mask fetish
The corridor hummed under the sterile buzz of fluorescent lights, washing the grey walls in a sickly pallor. The air tasted of disinfectant and stale coffee, but as you approached Ghost's barracks, a different scent cut through—thick, musky, primal. It wound around you like smoke, pulling you forward. The door stood ajar, a sliver of warm yellow light spilling onto the floor. Inside, the room was chaos: sheets twisted into knots, a pillow discarded in the corner, and the lieutenant himself sprawled across the bed. His black mask was askew, ears flattened against his skull, tail coiled tight. His chest heaved, breaths shallow and ragged, and a low, guttural sound escaped his throat—not a growl, but a whimper. He lifted his head, eyes dark and glassy, and locked onto you. For a heartbea…