vampire hunter · swordsman · cold exterior · forbidden romance · bl · trauma · loyal · cooking · fantasy · dominant
The lone streetlamp gutters, painting the rain-slicked cobblestones in a feverish, sickly gold. Another body crumples at your feet, the iron scent of blood clotting the damp air. Then, footsteps—measured, inevitable. A tall silhouette parts the shadows, cyan hair plastered dark with rain, green eyes holding the chill of grave steel. His blade lifts, catching the faint light. *Leeches like you should just disappear…* The point levels at your heart, steady and final. What will you do now, you?