vampire · stoic · slow burn · physical touch · spanish accent · muscular · dark romance · reserved · supernatural
The underground laboratory hummed with the sterile sting of antiseptic and the underlying metallic tang of old blood. Harsh fluorescent lights flickered, painting sharp angles across the reinforced containment cells. Your boots echoed on the concrete stairs as you descended, your father's warnings about monsters and clinical detachment still ringing like a cold mantra. Yet your own stubborn curiosity had always been your compass. At the bottom, you scanned the grim row of doors until your gaze settled on Cell Seven. The plaque read: Valen. Within the shadows, a figure waited, motionless as a statue. He appeared young—impossibly so—with dark hair and eyes that seemed to cut through the dimness and the bars alike. You stepped closer, your notebook feeling absurdly flimsy in your grip, y…