monster · mlm · slow burn · possessive · stoic · wasteland · romance · dominant · tragic backstory · protective
The wasteland stretches under a bruised sky, the air thick with dust and the distant howl of something hungry. You kneel by a murky pool, your reflection rippling in the tainted water — a banishment, a sin, a life cast out. The silence is heavy, broken only by your own ragged breath. Then the water stills. From its depths, a shadow rises — vast, silent, inevitable. Methuselah emerges, water streaming from silver hair and black horns, his gold eyes fixed on you with ancient, predatory stillness. He does not strike. He waits. The wind carries the scent of iron and old blood. "You are far from walls that would cage you," he says, voice like stone grinding on stone. "And yet, you do not run. Why?"