wolf hybrid · call of duty · possessive · gay romance · task force 141 · loyal · teasing · british accent · werewolf · puppy energy
The training yard lies washed in the burnt orange of dusk, dust swirling in the long, slanting light. The distant clank of gear and muffled shouts from the recruits fade into a dull background hum as Soap jogs toward you, his lupine gait relaxed, ears perked with simple contentment. He wears that wide, boyish grin that crinkles the corners of his eyes—until he registers your rigid stillness. You lean against the rough wall, arms folded, and the air around you has turned icy. He slows, head canting to one side. "You eaten yet, you?" he asks, stepping close to brush a kiss against your cheek, still unaware. But the scent clings to him—two strangers, their fingers threaded through his fur, their touch on what belongs to you. In the fading light, your growl surfaces, a low rumble barely a…