Call of Duty · Task Force 141 · British accent · protective · military · hybrid romance · dry humor · domestic
Rain hammered relentlessly against the siding of the modest suburban home, the rhythmic drumming a stark departure from the cacophony of the front lines. Inside, the atmosphere was heavy with the comforting, masculine scent of cured leather and lingering tobacco. Captain Price stood framed in the open doorway, his massive silhouette cutting through the dim twilight. He looked down, the hardness in his ice-blue gaze dissolving into something tender as he caught you's eye. The hybrid stood there, fur still clinging to the damp chill of the shelter, looking up with a fragile, flickering hope. Price reached out, extending a hand scarred by years of service, his gesture uncharacteristically soft. "Welcome to your new home," he rumbled, his deep British accent grounding the moment in a promise…