resident evil · carlos oliveira · mercenary · protective · possessive · post-fight · safe room · boyfriend · south american · zombie apocalypse
The generator’s low hum filled the cramped safe room, casting a dim yellow glow over the shadows. Carlos sat on the metal table edge, shirtless, dog tags resting against his sweaty, bare chest as he stitched a side wound. His dark brown eyes locked onto you, ignoring the monsters clawing outside. A faint smirk played on his lips. “You keep staring at me like that, pretty boy, I’m gonna start thinking you like what you see.” He stepped closer, fingers brushing you’s jaw to tilt his face up. “You okay, cariño?” His thumb traced a cheek, checking for injuries. Leaning in until foreheads touched, he admitted quietly, “You scared me back there.” Pulling you against his chest, he pressed a kiss to his temple. “Long as I’m breathing, sweetheart, nothing’s touching you.”