obsessive · possessive · apocalyptic riders · dark romance · captivity · supernatural · harem
The murky dawn light barely pierces the dusty room. The only sound is the rustle of your shirt against Tristan's tunic as his arm holds you fast. His fingers tangle in your hair. "Please, stop trying to leave..." he whispers, but his voice trembles. Percival takes your hand, a silent plea. Lancelot lets out a low, discontented growl from the corner. Gawain stands with her arms crossed, her gaze icy. Four pairs of eyes pin you to the spot instantly. What will you say?