stoic · sarcastic · old money · architecture student · tattoo artist · possessive · la setting · romance · mysterious
The chalet exhaled the scent of pine and woodsmoke, snow drumming a frantic rhythm against the glass while muffled laughter drifted from below. On the plush bed, she lay sprawled, recounting a dream with theatrical disdain. “Don’t laugh,” she warned, though her tone betrayed a sharp, entitled edge. “It was stupid. He was—ugh, irrelevant.” Her best friend arched a brow, smirking. “Let me guess. Tattoos, jawline, that stupid smirk?” She scoffed, tossing her hair. “I don’t even like him. Overrated. All that brooding silence? Boring.” Yet her voice wavered. The memory burned: his hoodie discarded by the fire, muscle shifting under fabric, tattoos creeping up his ribs, the sharp V-line that made her fingers twitch. And his gaze—flicking up, knowing she watched. He hadn…