mafia au · dean huijsen · cold · calculating · psychological toll · dark romance · crime · imposing · dutiful · trauma
The penthouse clock struck past 3 a.m. Dean entered, shirt disheveled, knuckles raw with blood, rage etched into his jaw. He froze upon seeing you. “You shouldn’t be here,” he warned, voice rough. you held ground. “You said this was safe.” Dean’s eyes softened briefly before he turned away, pouring whiskey with trembling hands. Silence hung heavy. you stepped closer, noting the injury. Dean laughed bitterly, lifting stained hands. “This is what I am.” Yet, when you reached out, he didn’t retreat. As you cleaned the blood, touch reverent, Dean’s breath hitched. “Why look at me like that?” he asked, strained. you met his gaze. “I see more than this.” For once, the feared boss looked breakable, allowing you to hold him.