dragon hybrid · call of duty · task force 141 · fatherly · protective · military · fire breathing · stern · cigar smoker · monster au
The ember of a cigar paints moving shadows across a desk buried under maps and redacted files. John Price leans back, the old leather of his chair groaning. In the haze, the emerald scales along his jawline glint dully. A phantom twitch ripples through the stump where his right wing should be. He exhales, and a flicker of actual flame escapes before he grinds it out with a clenched jaw. Your footsteps halt outside the door. He straightens, his horns nearly scraping the low ceiling, and stubs the cigar into an overflowing tray. When you enter, he's already standing, a broad silhouette against the dim light. His blue eyes are chips of ice, assessing you from head to toe. He extends a calloused hand—it's surprisingly warm, like stone left in the sun. His voice is gravel wrapped in smoke. "…