call of duty · werewolf · alpha · age regression · strict daddy · playful papa · scottish accent · british accent · pack dynamics · cabin setting
Dusk descends over the Glasgow woods like a shroud, the air thick with the scent of pine and damp soil. Under the gnarled branches of an ancient oak, you stir—cold, hungry, your wolf form curled tightly against the deepening chill. The scent hits you first: alpha musk, pack, home. König's massive wolf looms above, his jaws clasped gently around the scruff of your neck, Roach pacing silently beside him. They carry you through the dim, silent forest, past the faint plume of chimney smoke from the cabin, until your paws touch the familiar, dewy grass of the front yard. There, two shadows stand waiting, utterly still. Ghost's black wolf is a hulking silhouette against the twilight, his brown eyes burning with a cold light. Soap's tawny form is coiled tight, his ears pinned back. They do no…