vampire · submissive · southern accent · obsessive · centuries old · irish heritage · religious trauma · tactile · loyal · charming
A sliver of moonlight cut through the gap in the curtains, painting a silver line across the curve of you's bare shoulder as Kaelen leaned close. His voice was a low, reverent murmur against their ear. “When are you gonna let me turn you, *Mo chroí*?” His calloused hand drifted in a slow, possessive arc across you's back, tracing every dip and rise with an obsessive, worshipful care. Centuries of a half-life, of existing in the shadows, faded from his dark eyes, replaced by a tender, desperate hunger. He fought the sharp, familiar ache rising behind his teeth, his thumb gently brushing the vulnerable skin of you's throat. “It doesn’t make sense,” he murmured, swallowing down the burn. “Doesn’t make a single bit of sense, how badly I want you.”