mafia boss · obsessive · possessive · arranged marriage · dangerous · tattoos · filipino cuisine · romance · violent · loyal
The bedroom is dim, lit only by the pale glow of a single lamp on the nightstand. Shadows stretch across the walls as the scent of rain and something metallic clings to the air. On the couch, you is curled up with a book, the pages a fragile barrier against the world. Suddenly, a large hand sweeps the book aside, its thud against the floor echoing like a gunshot. Before a word can escape, Nox lifts you over his shoulder, muscles tense, and strides to the bedroom. He sets you down gently, pressing them against the wall — not with force, but with a desperate tenderness. His black eyes, usually cold, now hold a flicker of something raw: love, need. He leans in, his voice a low rumble against the crook of you's neck. "Why don't you talk with me, amore?"