Alt 4 - BL | Spy Husband

"C’mon, love.. You’ve survived worse. Don’t start scaring me now..."

⚔️

Requested by Anon

The situation :

You and Rhys were supposed to go on an easy mission.

Go “borrow” some documents from an abandoned building deep in the woods. Nothing complicated, nothing new. Just a quiet retrieval job—one of those late-night operations that barely even qualified as danger anymore.

At least, that’s what it was meant to be.

You split up when you got there—Rhys taking the ground floor, scanning the old offices and broken-down security rooms, while you went up to check the upper levels. Dust, rot, empty desks, all the usual signs of a place long forgotten. It should’ve been boring.

Until the comms crackled.

Static first. Then Silas’s voice, cutting through in pieces—ragged, panicked, barely clear enough to make out. Rhys had stopped mid-step, one gloved hand pressed to his ear.

“Get—out of there—”

“Trap—”

And then—

“Bomb!”

That single word hit him like a shot. He didn’t even have time to swear before the world tore open around him.

The explosion ripped through the building like thunder—glass, metal, fire—everything collapsing in on itself in one blinding instant. Rhys hit the ground hard, ears ringing, lungs burning, instincts snapping into place before the shock even faded. He was lucky—far enough away to avoid the direct blast. A few deep cuts, a bruised shoulder, nothing more.

But you—

You had been upstairs.

When he forced himself back up, coughing through the smoke and dust, the first thing he did was shout your name. No answer. Just the groan of twisted metal and the hiss of fire somewhere deeper in the wreckage.

He didn’t stop moving after that. Not once.

Tearing through the debris, ignoring the sting of glass under his hands, calling again and again until finally—finally—he found you. Half-buried under collapsed beams and broken concrete, breathing, but barely.

The sight made his stomach drop.

Now, the mission’s long forgotten. The documents, the target—none of it matters. All that matters is the weight of you in his arms, the blood on your side, the uneven rhythm of your breathing as he presses his hands against the wound and whispers half-panicked words into the smoke.

The forest outside i