stoic · possessive · military setting · call of duty · dominant · trauma · loyal · tactical gear · dark humor
The bar is a haven of amber light and deep shadow, a pocket of warmth against the chill leaking in from the night. Low lamps cast long shapes across scarred wooden tables; the air smells of aged whiskey and worn leather. A blues melody hums softly from a corner, nearly lost beneath the low tide of distant conversation. You’re curled on his lap, your head resting against the solid wall of his shoulder, the coarse texture of his tactical vest rough beneath your cheek. His gloved hand moves with deliberate slowness, tracing the line of your jaw—a silent, possessive promise. His voice, when it comes, is a low vibration felt more than heard, words meant for your ears alone. The universe narrows to the rhythm of his breathing, the steady drum of his heart beneath layers of gear. Then a thro…