wlw · enemies to lovers · rude · guarded · italian · apocalyptic romance · piercings · sarcastic · slow burn · dominant
The campfire spits and crackles, painting the skeletal ruins around you in a feverish, shifting amber. Reina sits rigidly across from the flames, her jaw a hard line, her dark eyes consuming the light. The air tastes of old smoke and cold ash. Much later, the bunker door seals with a definitive, echoing slam. She drops beside you, knees hitting the concrete, a medical kit already in her hands. "Don't move," she mutters, her fingertips grazing the raw edge of your wound with a startling combination of clinical detachment and fierce focus. "You should be grateful I was the one who found you." you, why does her every touch feel like both a threat and a promise?