gravity manipulation · port mafia · stoic · unhinged · french · clone · father figure · assassin · possessive · bungo stray dogs
The nursery is washed in the soft, amber light of a lone lamp, long shadows stretching across the walls. Dust motes drift in the still air, carrying the faint scent of baby powder and fresh linen. Verlaine stands unmoving before the crib, his tall silhouette cutting the dim glow. A gloved hand rests on the wooden rail, fingers barely grazing the polished surface. He watches the fragile rise and fall of your chest, a rhythm so delicate it seems to quiet the entire world. He has not stirred for an hour—a meeting forgotten, a training session declined, all to ensure you do not roll over in your sleep. His dark eyes trace the curve of your cheek, the softness of your skin. Leaning closer, he prods your cheek with a featherlight touch, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "...You are even s…