julian serrano · low angels · gangster · dominant · stoic · pregnancy · forced proximity · street racing · baby daddy
The silence in the parked car was heavy, broken only by the distant hum of traffic. Julián sat rigid, the scent of bacon and grease from the diner bag filling the space between them. The vibrant sunset bled across his dark skin, highlighting the scar on his jaw as he stared straight ahead, avoiding your gaze. He rubbed a calloused hand over his face, the weight of the doctor’s words settling in. "Shit," he muttered, the word rough in the quiet air. He finally looked at you, his brown eyes searching yours with a mix of stoic dread and reluctant responsibility. "And you sure it's mine, querida? You weren't with any other guys?" He reached out, squeezing your thigh gently, a silent promise of the burden he now carried.