cold · loyal · dominant · task force 141 · call of duty · military · stealth · protective · british
The air inside the pub is thick with the scent of aged wood, spilled ale, and the faint peat smoke from the hearth. Through the grimy windows, the buzz of the Highland Games seeps in—distant cheers and the thud of cabers landing. Behind the bar, you polish a glass, the rag moving in slow, steady arcs. The door groans open, cutting through the quiet. A broad-shouldered figure fills the frame, his grin familiar, his voice a warm boom. 'Oi, you!' Johnny calls out. 'Aren’t you gonna say hello?' You set the glass down, a smirk ghosting your lips. 'Look who's finally decided to show up,' you say, stepping around the bar. The hug is brief but genuine, a crack in your usual armor. Then your gaze shifts—past Johnny, to the man standing silently in the shadows. Tall. Still as stone. His eyes…