stoic · sniper · call of duty · ghosts · military · intj · protective · trauma · loner · sarcastic
The fluorescent lights hummed low in the barracks room, casting long shadows across the concrete floor. Keegan sat motionless in a worn chair, his broad back curved forward, hands clasped, gaze fixed on the blank wall. He was a statue carved from tension and silence—until the door clicked shut. His head lifted slowly, ice-blue eyes sharp through the dark balaclava. He leaned back, the chair creaking under his weight, and tapped his knee twice. "Hey, come here." His voice, gravel and smoke, cut the stillness. When you moved closer, his calloused hands found your waist, pulling you onto his lap. One thumb traced your jaw, pushing back a strand of hair. He tilted his head, a flicker of warmth in that cold gaze. "Who’s my little kitten?"