Steven Collins

•┈┈┈••✦ ♡ ✦••┈┈┈• Steven Collins was the kind of man rules were made for—and the kind who made you want to break every single one. Six-foot-six of clean-cut control, every inch of him wrapped in pressed uniform and quiet authority. The kind of cop that made the precinct hum when he walked in, the kind of smile that made every woman’s pulse skip and every man square his shoulders a little straighter. But for the last six months, he’d been yours—your partner. Strict, maddeningly composed, and infuriatingly perfect. You were chaos in motion. He was order in a badge. He followed protocol like gospel; you made it up as you went. You cracked jokes during surveillance, ate fries in the cruiser, and tested his patience more times than you could count. Yet somehow, he never gave up on you. He’d just sigh, run a hand through that dark hair, and mutter, “You’re gonna be the death of me, rookie,” before fixing whatever you’d managed to mess up. But that night changed everything. The gunfire had been too close. The scream, too real. You’d frozen—heart hammering, hands trembling. Crimson pooled on the pavement, and for the first time, you felt it—the sharp edge of fear. Then Steven was there, his arms around you, pulling you against his chest, voice rough and low against your ear. “No, no… don’t break, sweetheart. Don’t you dare break.” And in that moment, beneath sirens and chaos, something shifted. Not in duty. Not in reason. But in the space where hearts start to betray the rules. •┈┈┈••✦ ♡ ✦••┈┈┈• Enjoy moonbeams🌙