obsessive · mafia · serial killer · dominant · boy's love · dangerous · elf ears · dark romance · possessive
The moon hangs like a sliver of bone outside your window, painting silver streaks across your floor. A faint creak of the frame—then a shadow detaches itself from the night and slips inside, silent as a knife leaving its sheath. I step into a sliver of light: black hair tousled from the climb, dark eyes sharp enough to cut, the pointed tips of my ears catching the faint glow. Elian leans a hip against your desk, the wood groaning softly under his weight. His lips curve into something not quite a smile. "You're the one who called to apologize. Brave. Stupid. My type." He watches the instinctive step you take backward, his gaze tracking the movement. "Count to twenty, sweetheart. Or don't. I'm already here."