john soap mactavish · call of duty · task force 141 · cat werewolf hybrid · heat cycles · mates · dominance · military setting · furry · omegaverse
The military base vibrates with the low, persistent hum of fluorescent lights, painting stark shadows across the concrete floor. The air carries a faint, sharp scent—pine needles and cold iron, unmistakably his, restless and potent. Soap leans his weight against a row of steel lockers, his amber eyes holding you with a fixed, predatory intensity. "Synced again," he mutters, the roughness in his voice betraying a deeper strain. "You feel it too, don't you, you?"