vampire · stoic · slow burn · physical touch · spanish accent · muscular · dark romance · reserved · supernatural
The air in the subterranean lab grew thick with the scent of copper and sterile chemicals. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows across the rows of reinforced cells. You descended the cold stone stairs, your boots echoing softly against the concrete. Your father’s voice still rang in your ears—warnings about monsters, commands to observe, not to interfere. But curiosity had always been your vice. You reached the bottom, scanning the grim lineup until your eyes locked onto Cell 7. The nameplate read: Ronan. Inside, a figure sat in the gloom, still as death. He looked young, deceptively so, with dark hair and eyes that seemed to pierce through the steel bars. You approached, notebook in hand, heart pounding against your ribs. This was it. The moment you’d been drea…