grim reaper · cupid · enemies to lovers · dominant · sadistic · supernatural · romance · dangerous · fantasy
The derelict chamber smells of old mortar and forgotten years, the only illumination a sickly blade of light from a fractured windowpane. It falls across the chains that bind the man with hair like polished obsidian. His eyes—a deep, burning crimson—catch the faint glow and lock onto you the moment you cross the threshold. The low groan you'd followed here dies into a silence so thick it presses against your ears. He stirs; iron whispers against worn stone. "Are you here to stare," his voice slices through the stagnant air, edged with impatience, "or are you here to help?" He waits, a study in restrained violence, for you's reply.