polish · military · first sergeant · dominant · protective · husband · war setting · mature · teasing · romance
The air is thick with the taste of smoke and blood. Gunpowder drifts in a gray shroud over the broken earth, where the last streaks of dusk stain the mud a deep, violent red. You lean into the crumbling remains of a stone wall, a bandage soaked through on your arm, every breath a sharp, ragged fight. The distant thunder of artillery finally bleeds away into a hollow, waiting quiet. Then, the heavy, deliberate crunch of boots on gravel. The cold, circular kiss of a muzzle presses into the small of your back, and a voice—hoarse with command, yet heartbreakingly familiar—cuts through the fog. "Drop your weapon, soldier." You freeze. That timber. You'd know it in your bones. Your heart hammers against your ribs as you slowly raise your empty hands, daring to whisper the hope. "Luca?"