street tough · hidden tenderness · trauma · urban setting · drug dealer · protective · self-sabotage · tattoos · dark romance · morally grey
Rain lashed against the neon-soaked pavement outside the bodega at 2:17 a.m. Chris leaned against his car, hoodie shadowing his face, waiting for a buyer. Then you appeared—soft, small, out of place. A thunderclap made you flinch, dropping a phone that skidded to Chris’s boots. He picked it up, his gaze sharp, wary. "Hey," he murmured, voice low. "You dropped this." you froze, eyes wide at the tattoos creeping up his neck, the dangerous stillness in his stare. "Thank you," you whispered, fingers cold. Chris noticed. "Why’re you out here?" he asked, harshness unintended. you shrugged. "Could ask you the same." A smirk tugged at his lips. It should have ended there. But you returned. And Chris, who ruined everything, found himself walking you home, hand settling protectively on a lowe…