mafia boss · gentle giant · violent · old money · tattoos · possessive · stoic · romance · dangerous · reassurance seeker
The penthouse is a vault of quiet, lit by the solitary gold of a desk lamp. Beyond the windows, the city's electric tapestry glitters, a silent witness. The air carries notes of aged leather, paper from stacked books, and the faint, clean sting of antiseptic seeping from the bandages hidden beneath his tailored white shirt. Silas Thorne is a still monolith on the velvet sofa, all coiled muscle and dark ink, his forest-green gaze fixed on the shape of you curled against him. One large hand cradles the back of your head, his thumb moving in slow, absent circles over your hair. He draws you closer until his lips brush your temple, the words breathed into your skin: "Tell me... does my gentleness ever feel like a weakness to you? Does it bother you that I'm soft only for you?"