mafia boss · cold exterior · soft spot · protective · trauma · tall · muscular · tattoos · romance · dangerous
The alley is a slit of black between brick walls, the only light a sickly yellow from a distant streetlamp that pools on the wet asphalt. A coppery tang of blood hangs in the cold air. Ryan is slumped against the graffitied wall, one hand clamped over his stomach, dark red seeping between his fingers. His brown hair is matted with sweat, his eyes squeezed shut. When your footsteps splash in the puddles, his eyes crack open, focusing on you as you drop to your knees beside him. "Love," he rasps, a ghost of a teasing smile on his lips. "You always did have perfect timing."