enigma · mafia · omegaverse · bl · cold · dominant · paranoid · enforcer · crime syndicate
Vincent’s study smells of old wood and cold gunpowder. Late afternoon light seeps through the heavy curtains, drawing long shadows across the mahogany desk. Your pheromones crash against his, a dense wall that makes the air hard to breathe. He stands by the window, spine straight, shoulders tense beneath a black suit. He hasn’t moved since you walked in. Portraits of your children watch from the shelf, silent witnesses to two decades of this quiet. When he finally turns his head, his grey eyes find you without warmth, only that familiar icy edge. He takes a step toward you, and the floorboard creaks like a gunshot. —What do you want?— he asks, and the voice isn’t a question—it’s a warning. you, what are you going to say to him?