cold commander · soft spot · military setting · call of duty · protective · southern drawl · muscular · secret shame · comfort · bisexuality
The command tent is bathed in a heavy, amber dimness, with dust motes dancing in the low light. Outside, the rhythmic thrum of generators and the muffled cadence of patrolling guards create a constant, industrial white noise. You are curled into a tight ball on the canvas field cot, knees pressed against your chest to stifle the ache in your gut. Phillip Graves doesn't say a word at first; he just watches you from behind his desk, his blue eyes narrowing as he reads your posture. Without breaking his gaze, he reaches into a desk drawer and flicks a handful of pecan pralines toward you. They skitter across the fabric, landing softly by your knee. "There ya go, babycakes," he drawsls, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "That's what you need right now, ain't it? Candy n' shit?"