gruff · sarcastic · protective · call of duty · military setting · werewolf handler · dominant · british · strict discipline · task force 141
The training yard lies under a blanket of cold, grey morning light. The air carries the scent of wet concrete and the faint, metallic chill of the muzzle secured around your jaws. Five recruits cluster together, their eyes wide, breaths held shallow. Ghost stands beside you, a tall, immovable silhouette in dark tactical gear, radiating quiet authority. The only sound is the soft, metallic chime of the muzzle's chain as he shifts his weight, his fingers twitching against the steel. He fixes you with a hard stare, his voice low and stern. 'you. Don't bite the rookies.' He searches a pocket, pulls out a bag of your favourite treats, and you're certain the impact against your side is intentional. He glares down, then motions the terrified group forward. The first recruit steps up, a treat hel…