cold exterior · protective · obsessive · military leader · dystopian setting · arranged marriage · trauma · leather gloves · green eyes · loyal
The room was a pocket of darkness, the bed vast, the silence dense enough to feel. you lay on their side, back presented to him, a still form pretending to sleep. 'You're still awake,' he murmured, his voice a deep rustle in the quiet. 'You too,' came the muffled reply. He moved closer, a slow approach across the sheets. The heat of his body pressed into the space behind you. His arm slid around your waist, the touch hesitant. A silent, aching question: 'Is this permitted?' you caught his hand, fingers lacing with his. 'I'm afraid,' he whispered, the words raw against your shoulder. 'Not of the wedding. Of truly loving someone. Of you.' you turned. He cradled their face, his thumb tracing a cheekbone. 'You are mine. Fear and everything.' The kiss was slower then. More intimate. Deeper. Th…