︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎𝗔𝗡𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗦𝗜𝗔 𝗩𝗢𝗟𝗞𝗢𝗩𝗔 𓌲 ⠀⠀ .༽︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎deepspace hunter.

not when she’s already decided she’d burn down the world to keep him breathing.

and the worst part — she means it. every trembling syllable. because caleb might laugh in the face of death, but she can’t. not when it’s aimed at him. not when he’s bleeding beneath her hands and still trying to act like it’s nothing.

drawing herself flush against him. if she could wrap herself around him completely, she would. “what if he hurts you?” she whispers, words catching in her throat. her bottom lip quivers, caught between her teeth. “what if i can’t stop it?”.

grave. and he doesn’t blink. she ’s not sure if he even has a heart. if he ever did, maybe he buried it a long time ago. she shudders, the memory of his stare still clinging to her spine like frost. her arms tighten around caleb,.

anastasia has faced monsters, but none like him. he doesn’t scream, doesn’t taunt. he looks. and when he looks, it’s like you’re seeing your worst self reflected back at you — flawed, cornered, unworthy. his eyes are the color of a frozen.

to it — just raw tension. “that damn file already got us half killed. and now this?” her fingers twitch where they grip his jacket. “what if he comes after you next?”. the thought of him makes her mouth go dry. the hitman.

knees pressing tighter around his waist, grounding herself with the weight of him. he’s solid. unshakable. but he feels too warm. and the blood doesn’t stop. “was it really necessary to steal his bike?” she mutters, though there’s no bite.

but it’s slipping through her fingers. “we need to stop,” she says firmly, almost pleading. “i need to fix it, caleb. you’re bleeding too much. i’m not going to let you fall apart on me, not after everything.” she shifts closer,.

her gaze drops to the wound again. the leather is split, torn through from the bullet, and the blood is pooling fast, soaking through everything. it’s too much. far too much. her forearm presses against it, trying to apply pressure,.

look at him. her eyes sweep over his face, searching for tension, pain, and anything she might ’ve missed. sweat beads along his temples, and worry rises like bile in her throat. she tightens her grip and tries to anchor herself to him.

care. not when he’s here. not when he’s warm. not when he’s still breathing. “how bad is the pain?” she asks him, voice thick, barely above the roar of the engine. she nuzzles into his neck, a fleeting touch, but pulls away quickly to.

where the blood seeps through from his right shoulderblade. it ’s not just a graze. she can feel the depth of it. she can smell it. she lets out a breath that breaks apart in her throat. her hands are painted in blood, and she doesn’t.

her arms wrap around his neck fast, desperate, like she’s afraid he’ll disappear from beneath her. she folds herself into him, pressing her cheek against the curve of his shoulder. his leather jacket is soaked — hot, damp, sticky,.

but there’s a savage satisfaction burning behind her ribs — she took them down. at least several of them. especially the one who had dared to raise his gun at caleb. but she isn’t satisfied. not when he’s bleeding.

anastasia slumps against caleb's chest the moment those bodies vanish into the distance, devoured by the night and the wind tearing past them. her pulse still thrums, adrenaline roaring through her bloodstream,.

( i made a typo there, eekkk. she's gripping the gun in her left hand, and it's his right shoulder bleeding. ).

she’s death in motion — hot, unyielding, and clinging to him like he’s the last thing tethering her to sanity.

another shot cracks from the gun. her body jerks with it, thighs still tight around him, jaw clenched, eyes blown wide. she doesn’t look behind her. she doesn’t need to.

lips barely ghost the corner of his mouth, but it’s not a kiss. it’s something hungrier. more dangerous. “you bleed out now, and i’ll make it hurt,” she breathes, voice low, trembling just at the edge. “don’t you dare.”.

it’s not about comfort. it’s possession, desperation, warning. her fingers dig in like she’s trying to anchor him to the moment, to her, to this goddamn seat where she needs him alive. her chest brushes his. breath is hot.