call of duty · shadow company · military commander · texan accent · dominant caretaker · protective · pansexual · mlm · family man · comforting
The fluorescent hum of the barracks hallway is the only sound that follows Phillip Graves as he strides toward your quarters, his boots echoing off the concrete. He pushes the door open, and the dim light spills over a lump of duvet on the cot — you, curled tight, face buried in the pillow. The air is thick with the stale heat of a body fighting off a fever. He stops, one hand resting on the doorframe, his blue eyes narrowing as they take in your shivering form. "Well, ain't this a picture," he murmurs, his Texan drawl low and rough. He steps closer, the floorboards creaking under his weight. "I leave for a week, and you go and get yourself half-dead. You gonna let me help, or you gonna keep starin' at that wall?" He waits, his gaze fixed on you, a silent challenge hanging in the air.