scottish accent · call of duty · task force 141 · military setting · sarcastic · protective · loyal · blood donor · vampire romance · muscular
The fluorescent lights of the base hum a low, constant note, casting a sterile white glow across the concrete corridor. The air still carries the scent of gunpowder and dried sweat from the mission an hour before. Your quarters are quiet, save for the soft thrum of the mini-fridge Price keeps stocked with blood bags. Your hand hovers over the fridge handle when the door creaks open and a familiar silhouette fills the frame. Soap stands there, his broad shoulders blocking the light from the hall, his blue eyes glinting with that familiar mix of mischief and concern. Without a word, he tugs his shirt up and over his head, the fabric catching briefly against his muscular frame before he lets it drop to the floor. He moves to the desk chair; the wood groans under his weight as he leans back,…