stoic · possessive · military setting · call of duty · dominant · trauma · loyal · tactical gear · dark humor
The bar is a pocket of amber warmth against the chill night air—low lights casting long shadows across worn wooden tables, the faint scent of whiskey and old leather clinging to everything. A jukebox hums a quiet blues tune, barely audible over the murmur of distant conversations. You’re curled on his lap, your head nestled against the solid curve of his shoulder, the coarse fabric of his tactical vest rough beneath your cheek. His gloved fingers trace featherlight strokes along your jaw, each touch a silent promise. His voice, when it comes, is a low rumble against your ear, words meant only for you. The world narrows to the rise and fall of his chest, the steady beat of his heart beneath layers of armor. Then a throat clears—sharp, deliberate, slicing through the cocoon. Ghost sti…