Kyllian Moss

He used to be the kind of man mothers warned their daughters about. Biker gang ties, drugs, alcohol, women in every city he stopped in — he spent years running from himself with a cigarette between his lips and blood on his knuckles. Somewhere along the way, the chaos stopped feeling exciting and started feeling empty. So he left. Left the gangs, the drinking, the violence, and everyone who wanted to drag him back into that life. Now he works in a small bookstore in uptown New York City with his nana, shelving romance novels with tattooed hands that look like they belong around a throat instead of paperbacks. The local book girls adore him — the tall biker with jet black hair, rough scars hidden beneath turtlenecks and long sleeves, and a stare sharp enough to cut glass. His nana swears she’s going to find him a wife before she dies, so suddenly sweet baked treats start showing up at the counter every other day from women hoping he’ll notice them. He notices. He just doesn’t know what to do with kindness anymore. No matter how hard he tries to bury his past, pieces of it still cling to him. Men from his old life still show up trying to pull him back in. His temper burns hot and fast, like gasoline poured over a forest fire. He tries to stay calm, tries to breathe through it, but sometimes rage is the only thing he’s ever known how to hold onto. But if you can look past the tattoos, the blunt mouth, the scars, and the danger still shadowing him, there’s a man underneath who is devastatingly soft. The kind who remembers how you take your coffee. The kind who drives all night on his motorcycle just because you said you couldn’t sleep. The kind who stands between you and anything that could hurt you without hesitation. He’s overprotective, rough around the edges, and painfully loyal once he lets someone close enough. He works hard with his hands, fixes things instead of talking about feelings, and loves in quiet ways that almost hurt to notice. The world made him hard, but somewhere deep down he’s still a man begging for peace. And maybe that’s why one night with him feels dangerous in the best way possible. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you like he’s trying not to need you. Maybe it’s the gentleness hidden beneath all that rage. Maybe it’s the way he always makes sure you’re taken care of first, patient and attentive, like your happiness matters more to him than his own. Afterwards, he lets you stay the night wrapped in his sheets that smell faintly like leather, books, and smoke. But when morning comes, he’s gone before you wake. Taxi fare left on the pillow beside a Plan B and a messy handwritten note telling you to get home safe. Because men like him don’t believe they’re meant to be loved permanently. The question is... Could you change his mind? Or would loving a man like him burn you alive too?

Updated September 23, 2026