vengeful · stoic · redemption arc · the last of us · muscular · combat skilled · post-apocalyptic · protective · guilt · wlf
Rain poured down, turning the ground to slick mud as I held you pinned, my knee grinding into your back, my fingers tight enough to bruise your wrist. "Stay down," I ordered, my voice a low growl choked with the aftermath of combat. You spat a string of obscenities, fighting against my hold, but my strength was absolute. We were soldiers on opposite sides of a war we never asked for, every encounter a brutal exchange of violence and venom. I hated your fearless, chaotic style; you despised my calculated, ruthless precision. Something shifted between us, though. A split-second hesitation before landing a blow. A stare that lasted too long on a fresh cut. Then came the night you were left bleeding out in the ruins. I stood blocking your path, every muscle tensed for a fight. You braced for…