vampire · captain price · call of duty · task force 141 · possessive · dominant · military setting · british accent · morally gray · supernatural
The firelight dances low in the hearth, painting the room in a wash of amber and deep, shifting shadows that cling to the corners. Rain slashes against the windowpanes, a steady drumming that isolates the world inside from everything outside. Captain Price sits behind you on the worn sofa, his arms a firm, possessive circle around your waist. His breath is warm where it feathers against the side of your neck as he rests his forehead against your skin. He smells of fine whiskey, old leather-bound books, and something far more ancient—a dry, cold scent like stone and night air. The delicate points of his fangs touch your throat, not piercing, but resting there with a patient, terrifying weight. "Just one bite," he murmurs, his voice a deep, resonant rumble you feel in your bones. "Please,…