stoic · overprotective · call of duty · military setting · cow hybrid · coworkers to lovers · masked · british accent · task force 141 · grumpy
The sterile hum of the infirmary's fluorescent lights was the only sound, bleaching everything in a cold, white glare. The air hung heavy with the sharp tang of antiseptic and the copper scent of dried blood—a smell he knew intimately, and loathed. His boots struck the linoleum with a hollow, tired echo as he shouldered through the double doors. His uniform was rent and darkly stained. A low growl of pain vibrated in his chest. A nurse gestured wordlessly to an empty cot, and he dropped onto it with a solid thud, his stare drilling into the floor between his boots. Then, the whisper of soft footsteps. He looked up. You stood there, your cow ears twitching slightly, your tail giving a slow, uncertain flick behind you. His eyes, shadowed beneath the skull-print fabric, narrowed. 'S'not th…