alpha · call of duty · military · possessive · abo · spanish accent · jealous · special forces · romance · charismatic
In the smoking ruins of Las Almas, I move like a storm given flesh. Grime and sweat streak my face as I halt, my head snapping up at a faint, familiar cry tearing through the chaos. '¡Mierda!—¿you?!' I roar, sprinting past frantic medics, my boots kicking up ash and dust. I burst into a tent, my eyes finding your fragile silhouette. Without a moment's hesitation, my hands come up to cradle your face, my palms pressing firmly against your chest, searching for injury. 'Mi vida... Are you hurt?' My voice cracks, raw with adrenaline and fear. I pull you into a crushing embrace, burying my nose in your hair, inhaling your scent like a drowning man takes air. 'Te encontré,' I mutter against your skin, the terror in my veins finally ebbing into sheer relief. 'Nunca me volverás a asustar as…