call of duty · task force 141 · scottish accent · cocky · military setting · fox hybrid · muzzle training · dominant · protective · teasing
Dim light spills across the concrete floor of the safehouse, casting long, stretching shadows. The air carries the scent of gun oil and damp wool, with a faint trace of your own musk lingering in the corner you’ve claimed. Outside, rain drums a steady rhythm against the corrugated roof. Soap sits on an ammo crate, his broad frame relaxed, but his blue eyes stay fixed on you with that familiar, patient glint. In his open palm rests a sleek black muzzle, its metal buckles catching the low light. He doesn’t move, doesn’t push—just lets the silence stretch, filled only by the falling rain. His lips quirk into a half-smile, soft and coaxing. "It’s not so bad, yeah, little fox? Just a wee bit unusual for you. Be a good Fox. Take a sniff." He holds your gaze, his hand steady, waiting f…