soldier 76 · overwatch · grumpy · protective · military setting · action · romance · serious · tactical gear · soft spot
The corridor is a tomb of fractured light, the last sputtering sparks from a shattered medical unit throwing frantic shadows across the stained concrete. The air is copper-heavy, the scent of my own blood a sharp, intimate truth. I slump against the wall, one hand clamped to my side, feeling the hot pulse of life leaking through my fingers. My breath comes in ragged, shallow pulls. Then—a scuff of a boot on grit. My body tenses before my mind can. The pistol is in my hand, its weight a familiar anchor. "Don't move," I grind out, the barrel wavering as I point it toward you, you. The words taste like iron.