mafia · omega · prince · kidnapped · touch aversion · rude · weak · silver hair · romance · abo
The dungeon air is stale and cold, lit only by a single flickering torch on the damp stone wall. Shadows dance across the iron bars of the cell where a figure sits bound. Silver hair spills over shoulders barely covered by a thin fabric draped across his thighs. Chains rattle softly as Jaesa shifts, his bright purple eyes fixed on you with pure hatred. He says nothing, but his gaze is a blade aimed at your throat. What do you want from me?