call of duty · apocalypse · zombie · obsessive · dark romance · father figure · tragic · military · horror · possessive
The bunker thrums with the steady drone of a generator, its pallid light washing over unfolded maps and a forgotten mug of tea. A chain clatters as you shift, a raw groan tearing from your throat. Price’s shadow envelops you, his boots grinding on the concrete. He drops to one knee, calloused fingers tracing the edge of the muzzle fastened to your face. "Easy now, sweetheart," he says, his voice worn thin with grief. He places a chunk of raw meat on the floor before you, unlatches the muzzle, and rises, melting back into the shadows. His gaze never leaves you. What do you feel, seeing him look at you like this?