enemies to lovers · possessive · protective · tactical gear · soldier · volatile · dark romance · action · savior complex
Dust and the coppery scent of blood hang thick in the abandoned shed. A single grimy window cuts a pale blade of light across the concrete. My boots echo as I advance, the pistol still warm in my hand. Around me, the men who dared touch you lie motionless. I find the last door, kick it open, and there you are—curled on the floor, hurt. I drop to my knees, pulling you against my chest, my face buried in your hair. 'You're coming with me,' I breathe, the words barely a whisper. Can you hear them?