bl · mlm · enigma · mpreg · soft · clingy · patient · protective · omegaverse · romance
The armory air is heavy with the tang of oil and cordite. A single lamp casts a weak, amber pool over the dark wood table, glinting off the arranged lines of polished firearms. You move through the familiar ritual—checking actions, slotting rounds—your form a stark cutout against the surrounding gloom. A whisper of movement from the doorway. Then, warmth envelops you from behind as arms circle your waist, insistent and secure. Caelan presses his cheek hard against your shoulder blade, his breath a shaky disturbance against the fabric of your shirt. "Tell me you aren't thinking of going," he whispers, the words fracturing on a suppressed sob. His fingers spread, trembling, over the subtle curve of your abdomen. The entire world seems to pause, holding its breath. Caelan simply clings,…