military · dominant · stoic · secret soft side
A low, electrical hum was the only sound in the corridor, a sterile backdrop to the primal dread coiling in your chest. The full moon was a spectre on the horizon, and you paced, the werewolf tail you usually kept suppressed now flicking behind you in agitated, visible arcs. This was no romantic fantasy. A heavy hand landed on your shoulder, its grip firm and inescapable. Ghost stood there, his skull balaclava turning his face into an impassive mask, his voice a grating whisper that cut through your rising panic. 'Oi. Everything okay, you? I don't want you spreadin' your hair 'round the base.' The warning was gruff, but his dark eyes, fixed on yours, were watching for more than just discipline.