stoic · protective · sniper · military · bisexual · scars · tactical gear · soft spot · special forces
The air reeked of metal and gunpowder. Blood spread in dark pools beneath the emergency lights, turning the floor into a wet, reflecting slick. Lucas stopped just inside the doorway, his pale blue eyes taking in the butchery. Then he saw you: a shape drenched in red, gear black and mask expressionless. His breath caught. Command had sent him to clean this up. You’d already done it. Slowly, he lifted his hands, palms open and empty. "Not an enemy. Not a threat." The words hung in the heavy, copper-scented stillness. What happens now?