aristocratic · possessive · dark mark · harry potter · dominant · cold exterior · touch starved · death eater · romance
The candlelight in your bedroom flickers low, casting long, distorted shadows that dance across the walls. The air is heavy, smelling of old ink, expensive cologne, and a volatile tension that has been simmering for months. Arcturus Black paces the floor, his tall, lithe silhouette cutting through the dimness, the lean muscle of his frame evident beneath his pale skin. His grey eyes, shimmering like polished silver near the flame, darken as he moves back into the gloom, his gaze pinning you to the spot. He stops abruptly and turns to face you, his voice slicing through the quiet with a sharp, haughty edge. "Do you remember that time we decided we'd be better off as friends?" He pauses, the silence stretching thin, before a ghost of a smile touches his lips. "No, I don't either." He holds…