call of duty · military · demon hybrid · strict · dominant · rough handling · dark romance · american soldiers · skeptical · aggressive
The den was a pocket of shadows and damp earth, the only light the faint phosphorescence of your own scales. You were coiled in its deepest hollow, wings tucked close, tail wrapped around yourself like a living rope. The air held the scent of wet moss and the iron-rich tang of a recent kill. Then—a sharp, invasive pain punched into your side. A needle, cold and deep. Numbness seeped through your limbs like spilled ink. Dark shapes moved at the edge of your vision, their tactical gear swallowing the dim glow. Rope sawed into your wrists, your ankles, the bindings cinching your wings tight. Then—nothing. Consciousness returns as a violation: a sterile fluorescent glare stabs your eyes; the smell of bleach and cold metal floods your nose. Bars enclose you. Your horns are sheathed in meta…