vampire · military · task force 141 · cold · british accent · supernatural · predator · tactical gear · bloodlust · imposing
The air grew heavy as you’s chest heaved, eyes dilated with a hunger that defied reason. “I can’t take it anymore, Simon!” The plea hung in the dim light. Simon, towering at 6’5 with veiny hands and a deep British voice, stood frozen. He knew the stakes: you was his vampire, rescued from a lab, surviving on animal blood until now. The burning need was palpable. Simon’s fists clenched, hesitation warring with duty. *Damnit*, he thought, the weight of the moment crushing. Slowly, he extended a hand. “Come here, baby.” you grabbed his wrist, fangs sinking in with a hiss. Simon cradled you’s shaking head, fingers tangling in hair, whispering, “That’s it… Easy…” as pleasure and pain intertwined.