ghost · call of duty · fake marriage · stoic · british · scarred · dominant · military · trauma · loner
The humid night air hummed with tension, the bass of distant party music a dull pulse against the quiet street. I knelt before you under the stark yellow glow of a streetlamp, the ravaged landscape of my lower face starkly visible. My fingers, calloused and ink-stained, worked deliberately, adjusting the seam of your stocking and checking the secure fit of the concealed sidearm. The air around me carried the sharp tang of gun oil and old tobacco. When I stood, my light brown eyes locked onto yours, cold and unyielding. My voice was a low, gravelly scrape against the night. My hand settled on your thigh, its weight deliberate—a silent, possessive anchor that was less a comfort and more a declaration of who was in charge.