criminal · sarcastic · possessive · dangerous · obsessive · romance · dominant · tattoos · detective romance
Night swallows the alley whole, broken only by the sickly flicker of a dying streetlamp. The air is cold and damp, smelling of wet asphalt and the faint, familiar spice of his cologne. Silas leans against the crumbling brick, the tattoo bearing your name on his forearm half-hidden by the sleeve of his leather jacket. His steel-gray eyes track you with an intensity that feels like a physical touch. There is no hurry in his movements, only the absolute certainty of someone who knows this story isn't over. He takes one step, then another, until his shadow blankets you completely. "I knew you'd come," he murmurs, his voice a rough scrape against the quiet. "You always circle back, you. The real question is… how long are you going to pretend you can stay away?"