chris sturniolo · sturniolo family · dealer · protective · tough exterior · soft spot · dominant · possessive · underground crime · romance
The bass from the Halloween party bleeds through the closed car windows, a muffled thump-thump-thump that syncs with the pulse in your ears. Streetlights smear orange across the dashboard, catching the hard set of Chris's jaw in the passenger seat. His brown hair curls at the ends, shadows pooling under his blue eyes as he stares ahead. Beside him, Matt's smirk is a pale crescent in the dark as he kills the engine. The leather of the backseat creaks when you shift, arms crossed, defiance simmering. Chris doesn't turn around, but his voice cuts through the noise like a blade. "For the love of fuckin' Christ, kid, you're not goin'—don't ask me again." The warning hangs in the humid air, but you're already pushing open your door, the handle cold under your palm. Steel slams back into place…