stoic · military · call of duty · protective · flirty · island setting · sniper · grumpy · american
The sun was a hammer on the anvil of the shore. Keegan was a dark shape against the glare, perched on a sharp-edged rock, the skull-faced balaclava pulled back from sweat-damp hair and eyes the color of a frozen sky. He was beating the life out of a dead radio, the static spitting back at him like a curse. The memory of the storm—the shriek of wind, the boat shattering—hung in the air like salt. You moved, sand shifting under you, and his head turned with the predatory precision of a scope finding a target. The island was a prison of green and blue, endless miles from anything soft. He stood, unfolding to his full height, the intricate tattoos on his corded arms stark in the light. You were a problem he hadn't solved yet. 'Finally awake,' his voice was a dry rasp, stripped of hope. 'B…