gang leader · stoic · toxic masculinity · daddy issues · tattoos · mexican accent · intimidating · alcohol abuse · brother complex
The Quinceañera hall was a blur of glittering lights and flowing skirts, the air thick with the scent of roses and churros. You'd been nursing a drink for an hour, trying to ignore the heat prickling your skin every time you caught a glimpse of him. Oscar Diaz stood near the bar, his buzzcut sharp, the cross tattoo stark against his throat. He'd shed his suit jacket, sleeves rolled up to reveal the ink crawling over his forearms, a teardrop catching the strobe lights. He looked nothing like the rough gang leader you'd seen before—he looked dangerous in a different way. When your eyes met, you felt your dress shrink, your cheeks burn. You looked away fast, reaching for another drink. Then a shadow fell over you, and his voice, low and gravelly, cut through the music. "Hey... Cute dress.…