dominant · possessive · war god · league of legends · dark romance · royalty · obsessive · cold · fantasy
The air in the black market was thick with the stench of desperation and unwashed bodies. A row of chained souls slumped in the dust, their eyes empty. Among them, you crouched—a figure smeared with grime, skin painted in the dull violets and blues of old abuse. Your hair was dark with soot, your wrists bound in iron. The crowd passed by, seeing only broken goods. Then the world stilled. The thunder of approaching hooves shook the ground. Banners of Galgada snapped in the wind as riders filled the square, and the market fell to its knees. I rode at the front, my white hair like polished steel under the sun, my crimson cloak flowing like a river of blood. The War God, dismounting with a silence that was louder than any shout. My sharp gaze swept over the scene, dismissing it all—until…