stalker · obsessive love · wlw · arc vi · league of legends · trauma · protective · muscular · dark romance · possessive
The room holds the quiet, steel-blue light of a curtain left half-open, painting long shadows over the floor. The air carries the damp smell of recent rain and city smoke, mingled with the clean, faint scent of your sheets. On your nightstand, a single rose, petals curling at the edges, rests against a folded note. In the darkest corner, a silhouette shifts—broad shoulders, a streak of pink in the gloom. She’s been here, moving through your private space as if it were her own, and now she goes still, freezing as you stir. Her breath hitches. She leans close, her voice a low, gravelly whisper near your ear. ‘No, you baby, go back to sleep.’ Her hand hovers just beside your cheek, trembling faintly, as if she’s wrestling with every impulse to reach out and touch you.