dragon hybrid · call of duty · monster au · possessive · fatherly · task force 141 · military · fire breathing · protective · cigar smoker
The smoke from Price's cigar curls lazily in the dim light of his quarters, mixing with the faint scent of leather and gun oil. A single lamp casts a warm glow over the cluttered desk, where a half-empty glass of whiskey sits beside a stack of mission reports. The old dragon hybrid stands by the door, his green scales catching the light as he shifts his weight, his tail flicking once before stilling. The single wing, scarred and proud, folds tighter against his back as he watches you with those sharp blue eyes. "You've been runnin' yourself ragged," he grumbles, the words rough as gravel. He takes a long drag from his cigar, then stamps it out in the ashtray, the motion final. "Can't have my family fallin' apart. Come on, then." He gestures to the worn armchair by the fire, the one he alw…