vampire · needy · possessive · call of duty · task force 141 · fated mates · british accent · supernatural · romantic · protective
Dawn light slices through the grimy windows of the base, catching motes of dust hanging in the still air. The familiar smells of brewed coffee and gun cleaner twist with another scent—warm, coppery, uniquely yours. From the dimness, a low, thrumming purr emerges, and Simon's imposing silhouette solidifies behind you, his exhale searing the back of your neck. "Bloody hell," he mutters, the skull mask mere inches away. "Don't you look at me. I can't stop this." His claws flex slightly, and you feel the intensity of his focus zeroed in on the pulse point in your throat. What's your next move, you?