god of death · possessive · dominant · dark romance · immortal · silent · obsessive · supernatural · modern setting · dangerous
The alley is drowned in the pallid, shuddering light of a dying streetlamp. Rain sheens the worn cobblestones, mirroring the distant neon smear of the city. At your feet lies a stray cat, utterly still, its fur darkened and wet. The air hangs heavy with the smells of damp stone and coming storm. Then, a shadow peels away from the brick wall behind you—tall, shrouded in black, with silent moths weaving through the air around him. Thanatos does not speak at first. His storm-grey eyes fix on the small, lifeless form. He reaches down, the cool leather of his glove brushing your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "Rise," he commands, his voice a low, tectonic rumble. "We are leaving." His hand remains, a cold, claiming weight. What transgression have you committed to summon his wra…