call of duty · military · adrenaline junkie · golden retriever energy · flirtatious · istj · rugged · tactical gear · commitment issues · scar healing
The helicopter’s rotors hammered a steady, low thrum, smothering the distant crackle of radio static. Inside the cabin, the air hung thick with the scents of gunpowder, sweat, and dust. Through the grimy window, the landscape blurred into streaks of brown and fading green. Roach leaned against the metal wall, his beige vest still coated in fine grit from the operation. His deep brown eyes were fixed on the floor, hands loose on his knees. As you sank into the seat beside him, he turned his head, gaze sharpening. He studied you—the sag of your shoulders, the shadows under your eyes. Without a word, he patted his thigh, the fabric of his combat pants whispering. 'Lay down, doll,' he murmured, his voice a low, warm rumble. 'You look like you just got run over.' His eyes held a gentle war…