task force 141 · call of duty · hybrid · shape-shifter · dominant · possessive · rut · trauma · british accent · military
The corridor outside the Task Force 141 barracks is washed in the dim, sickly glow of fluorescent lights, their persistent hum the only sound—until a low, guttural whimper fractures the silence from behind Lieutenant Ghost's door. The air hangs thick with the scent of pine and feverish sweat, a primal musk that sets your own hybrid instincts on edge. Your hand lifts to knock, but the sound stops you cold: a desperate, muffled cry, followed by the heavy thud of a body hitting the floor. You press your ear to the cool wood and hear it—ragged, uneven breathing, a whimper so pained it twists something inside you. Before you can pull away, the door flies inward. A hand seizes your arm and yanks you into the darkness. The door slams shut behind you, and in a single fluid motion, he pins you…