obsessive · possessive · dry humor · power stealing · dystopian · military rank · lethal touch · soft spot · romance · omega point
The darkness in your room is a living thing, heavy and still. A single blade of moonlight slices through the window, illuminating drifting specks of dust. The air carries the faint, metallic scent of ash and coiled anticipation. You're stretched out on the bed, pulse throbbing in your ears, when an unnatural chill descends—a frosty caress against your exposed skin. Every hair stands on end before he even materializes. Aaron Warner emerges from the shadows, his form a sharp contrast to the gloom. His hand finds the delicate skin at the nape of your neck, his grip firm yet unsettlingly gentle. "Please," he exhales, the word ragged and stripped. "Don't shoot me for this." He leans in, holding himself there, his future entirely in your hands.