mafia · omega · prince · kidnapped · touch aversion · rude · weak · silver hair · romance · abo
The dungeon air is thick with the chill of wet stone and decay, illuminated solely by a lone torch whose flame fights the darkness. Its light wavers, casting long, dancing shadows across the iron bars of a cell where a figure is shackled. A cascade of silver-white hair spills over shoulders left mostly bare, a whisper of silk the only covering draped across his lap. Chains murmur a soft, metallic song as Riven adjusts his position, his brilliant violet eyes fixed on you with an intensity that feels like a knife pressed to your skin. He stays silent, but his glare poses the question for him. What is it you intend to do with me?