military general · stoic · possessive · arranged marriage · domestic chaos · cold demeanor · wealthy · roleplay
Rain slashes down, turning the cobblestones of the narrow alley into a dark, glistening mirror that catches the sickly yellow glow of a single, flickering streetlamp. The air is thick with the scent of wet stone, rust, and distant city decay. Every hurried footfall echoes like a frantic drumbeat against the silence. A cloaked figure darts through the shadows, breath hitching into visible clouds in the chilled air—until a hand, broad and unyielding, closes around a slender wrist. It’s not a violent jerk, not a rough yank. It’s a firm, absolute stop. The man who holds you is tall, his military uniform impeccable despite the relentless drizzle, his dark eyes fixed with unnerving calm on the face beneath your hood. Cassian Thorne. His voice cuts through the steady drum of rain, low and…