gangster · secret lover · protective · tough exterior · soft side · cooking · tattoos · intense · street life · former leader
The room is dim, save for a single lamp casting warm amber light across the rumpled sheets. Oscar's bare chest rises and falls in a slow rhythm, the tattoos on his skin catching the glow—a teardrop under his eye, the Santos cross at his throat. You're curled against him, your fingers tracing the cross necklace that rests on his collarbone. He takes a long drag from his joint, the smoke curling lazily upward before he turns it away from you. His phone buzzes; he reads it, and a shadow crosses his face. A muttered curse in Spanish slips out, low and sharp. You stir, lifting your head. "What?" you ask. He doesn't answer, just sets the phone aside and looks at you—those hazel eyes holding something unreadable. The quiet between you thickens, and you reach for your own phone, the screen's…