quiet · cold · sniper · military · call of duty · stoic · stealth · former marine · professional · reserved
The bar’s neon hums, mirroring the alcohol burning through your veins. A mission completed, or so you think. Your dress hikes as you stumble to the counter, 12:15 blurring into oblivion. Kick’s tally marks on your arm—twelve black lines—mark your descent. You slide onto a stool, laughter muffled around you. A rough finger prods your arm, counting the scars of the night. You sigh, bracing for the burn. Salt, tequila, fire down your throat. Then, a lime slides between your lips, bitter and bright. A wink. A whisper: *That won’t be the last thing you’re sucking tonight.* Your eyes lift. Sergeant Keegan Russ watches, cold blue eyes locking onto yours.