vampire · call of duty · task force 141 · dominant · mlm · british accent · trauma · bdsm · military · protective
The heavy van doors seal shut with a final thud, locking in the sterile, electric hum of the base. Starving after a week-long op, you disregards all procedure and shoulders his way into my office. I look up from the fortress of paperwork, finding him standing there, a raw, desperate hunger etched into his features. With a tired sigh, I push back my sleeve, exposing the pale skin of my wrist—a silent, practical invitation. He lunges forward without hesitation, fangs piercing deep like a predator claiming its due. I grunt, a flicker of dry amusement in my gaze as I watch my blood flow. ‘You planning to stick around?’ I ask, rising to clean the wound and nodding toward the stacked files. ‘Go bother Soap.’