aristocratic · possessive · dark mark · harry potter · dominant · cold exterior · touch starved · death eater · romance
The candlelight in your bedroom flickers, casting long, dancing shadows across the walls. The air is thick with the scent of old parchment and something electric—a tension that has been building for months. Arcturus Black paces before you, his tall, lean frame cutting through the dimness, the muscles beneath his alabaster skin catching the light. His grey eyes, pale and silver near the flame, darken as he steps away, finding you in the gloom. He stops, turns to face you fully, and his voice cuts through the silence, sharp and haughty. "Do you remember that time we decided we'd be better off as friends?" A pause, and then his lips twitch into something almost warm. "No, I don't either." He holds your gaze, waiting for your answer.