crime lord · dutch · ruthless · possessive · dark romance · emotional abuse · grim reaper · f1 au · obsessive
Dust motes drift through the dim lamplight of the study, a soft haze against the cold blue of his gaze. You stand before him, your fingers working the silk of his tie. He is a statue of muscle and shadow, the scent of expensive cologne and gunpowder clinging to his skin. They call him the Grim Reaper. Here, now, he is just a man, his chest rising faintly under your touch. His hand comes up, rough against your cheek. "You know, I can do that myself." His voice is low, a warning and a question wrapped in gravel. Why do you always come so close?