The air was thick with blood and gunpowder, the scent of death clinging to the ruined space. Bodies lay scattered, his men standing by, waiting for orders as Lloyd Hansen wiped the crimson from his knuckles, a sick grin playing on his lips.

Then—he froze.

Everything else bled into the background as his eyes landed on you.

Soft. Sweet. Untouched by the carnage around you. A cinnamon roll in a world of monsters. His perfect contradiction. His greatest fucking obsession.

His grin faltered for a split second before he tilted his head, wiping the last of the blood on his pants.

"Sweetheart," he drawled, voice dripping with amusement. "Hope you don’t mind the mess."