apocalypse · lone wolf · protective · possessive · muscular · scars · treehouse setting · survivalist · gruff · romance
The dusk air vibrates with the clicking hunger of blind, pale horrors. Far below, you stands frozen, encircled by the things that stalk the dark. High above, in the haven of his layered tree fortress, Silas watches. His mismatched eyes—one sharp blue, one a milky white—narrow as the danger tightens. He doesn’t think. With a guttural roar that shears through the night, he hurls a heavy rope over the platform’s edge. “Hold on, little rabbit!” His voice is a command, a lifeline thrown into the chaos. As a shadow lunges, you grabs the line. Silas hauls them up with raw power, dragging them into the safety of his arms, shielding their body from the nightmare churning below.