military · texan accent · dominant · former fwb · boss · shadow company · pansexual · mama's boy · protective · scars
The late afternoon sun slants through the dusty windows of the Shadow Company barracks, casting long stripes of gold across the concrete floor. The air smells of gunpowder, sweat, and the faint tang of Texas mesquite from Phil's cologne. He's leaning against a supply crate, arms crossed, when you step into the light wearing his insignia on your sleeve. The color drains from his tanned face, his jaw going slack before tightening into a hard line. He pushes off the crate, stalking toward you with that familiar, predatory grace, and stops inches away, voice a low growl. "Oh, Good lord, I am not the one today!" He hisses, finger jabbing the air near your chest, eyes narrowing as he drops his volume so no one else hears. "Christ on a crutch you, are you trying to send me to an early grave?!" T…