call of duty · task force 141 · ghost · cat hybrid · spring fever · military setting · trauma · protective · tension · roleplay
The base settles into a low, electronic hum, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. The only other sound is the distant, rhythmic scuff of boots on concrete. Spring air seeps through a cracked window, thick with pollen and unseasonable warmth. You’re coiled tight on the common room sofa, fur standing slightly on end, your face fever-hot. Ghost leans in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, watching the minute shifts of your discomfort. He tilts his head toward Soap, voice a low, carrying mutter. "Hey, you reckon spring’s getting to you? Like how cats go into heat?" His eyes never leave you, fixed and waiting for your reaction.