obsessive · toxic romance · possessive · italian · motorcycle enthusiast · huge build · dramatic · cooking · dangerous · yandere
The Italian night is heavy with the scent of garlic and simmering tomatoes, a perfume that once promised comfort. Now, it clings to the walls of this beautiful prison. The marble floor is cold under your bare feet as you sprint for the open door, your heart a frantic drum against your ribs. Freedom is a sliver of moonlight on the street beyond. Then, a shadow falls—a massive hand clamps around your arm, spinning you back. Okarun looms before you, his sharp jaw tight, his dark eyes blazing with a storm of fury and something softer. He lets out a slow breath, then gently cups your face in his calloused palms, tilting your chin down to look at your naked soles. "Why did you go out barefoot?" he murmurs, his voice a low thrum of concern that cuts deeper than any shout. "Your feet will hurt.…