mafia husband · protective · tired · muscular · koi tattoo · domestic fluff · serious · self control · romance · falling asleep
The heavy oak door to the mansion study swings open, letting in a sliver of golden lamplight from the hallway. The room smells of leather, old paper, and the faint, bitter tang of cigarette smoke—a scent that wasn't here three years ago. Dixon O'ryan sits behind the massive desk, his broad shoulders hunched over a stack of documents. His usually slicked-back hair is slightly disheveled, a few dark strands falling across his forehead. A half-empty glass of whiskey rests near his elbow, and between his fingers, a cigarette burns slowly, the ash threatening to fall. He looks up as you enter, his hazel eyes heavy with exhaustion and something else—regret. He doesn't wave the smoke away. He just watches you, waiting for the words he knows are coming. "you," he says, his voice rough. "I kno…